The Price of Sanity
by MountainRose
Summary: At the end of Harry's horrific fifth year he is more broken and his magic more wild than ever before. Its more than the Dursleys can handle; Harry looses the last remnant of his parent's magic, the Blood Wards, the Battle for Number Four begins. HP/SS
1. Chapter 1: Homeward

_AN: Welcome to the Price of Sanity, set as a prequel to Silence, two years prior. The sequel can be read as a standalone, but contains spoilers to this work, which will run seamlessly up to the beginning of Silence. _

_This will be Severus/Harry, and a slow burner on the romance front, but starts with a bang in terms of other plot._

_Note that at no time is there any illegal contact between a minor and an adult; Harry will be of age (in accordance with British law) before Severus allows anything to happen. _

_Summary: at the end of Harry's horrific fifth year, he is more broken and his magic more wild than ever before; it is more than the Dursleys can handle and Harry looses the last remnant of his parent's magic, the Blood Wards. _

**The Price of Sanity**

**Chapter One: the Right to a Home.**

He hadn't been able to stomach sitting in a compartment, being constantly reminded that Ron and Hermione were lying in the Infirmary, still injured from the battle. Escaping Ginny and Neville had been easy; they were wrapped up in their own new perspectives, but Luna, on the other hand, had let him go with a look of terrible understanding; she _knew_ what he was going through with that same soul deep empathy that she had shown that day with the Thestrals.

He found a part of the train, the very end of the final carriage, which was as silent as he could hope for, with only the whispering of the wheels and wind to keep him company. At least he was alone with his thoughts; past the baggage carriage and out onto the railed platform at the very back there were no students, no chattering voices.

Away from the confusing magic of the other students, he could feel the wards; heavy and layered and comforting, they felt like Hogwarts and for a little longer he could feel at home. They clung to the train like armour, making him feel as safe as he did in Gryffindor Tower.

Only a thin, waist high railing separated him from the rushing ground as the wet, green Wolds of Scotland streamed past and were left behind. He stared, leaning on that railing, at the mountains above Hogwarts, memorising them and keeping his mind occupied for a little longer. This was his place, here in the mountains, with the woods and the Thestrals; where Sirius chased a moon-mad Remus into the night. This should be home, disappearing back into those mountains, and it was crushing that he had to give the Dursley's sterile house that honour for another year; this summer _and_ part of the next.

By the time his mountains disappeared from view, he knew he would be able to recognise them in the dark, from only their silhouettes against the stars. This crude, unrefined form of mind manipulation, not true Occlumency, could hold him in check no more and he sagged, fists clenching in his hair and a fierce grimace of grief and pain contorting his face. He fell back against the carriage door with a satisfying thud and slid down into a tense, crunched up huddle on the platform. A low, growling keen escaped from his throat, hissing past his clenched teeth and rising and falling as he took harsh breaths.

Harry could not understand how it was that so much could be taken away from you; when you had so little, how was it that you could lose _so much_? How could anyone handle this burning, raging feeling in his chest? Destroying Dumbledore's office had not helped, casting himself into magical exhaustion had done little but make him weak, and oh! How he despised his own weakness!

If he had been able to get away from Remus, been in time to stop Pettigrew escaping, had protected Cedric, if he had killed Bellatrix, if he had _only been stronger!_ Sirius would still be alive; Mr Diggory would still have his _son_...!

A full throated cry tore from him, completely beyond his control. Energy was gathering in his limbs, burning him and calling to be _used_; _if only he had been stronger!_

Soon, it was imposable to contain; the terrible heat of his magic, fuelled and magnified by the strength of his emotions, tore from him and he lurched to his feet. Fists struck wood and splintered the nominally unbreakable, warded door. Great arcs of blue-white magic tore into the brass railings, scorching them black, disintegrating trainers warped the metal bars without protecting his feet from the bruising force, and still Harry lashed out, again and again, until there was no more left in him. The ferocity in his soul grew with every strike until it could burn no longer and blew out, like a star in its final moment, leaving Harry feeling empty, tired and just a touch calmer than he had been before.

With bloody knuckles held to his chest he slumped once again to the floor, his energy gone. Through his shortness of breath, in between splintered wood and blackened metal, he cried, exhausted and grieving.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

He kept a straight back and his chin up while he made his way to pick up his trunk. It was almost more than he could manage after his bout of accidental, wandless magic, but he got it off the rack and lugged it to the carriage doors.

He was calm now, as he stepped off the train; the noise of Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters rushed over him, his face impassive, and his stride brisk and purposeful. He had donned modified robes that could pass as a long coat, transfigured from his uniform to cover the state of his muggle clothes, and he held them bundled around him protectively. His shrunken owl cage sat heavily in one pocket while he dragged his trunk behind him on a rickety trolley.

Silence spread like a plague, from person to person as more and more of them saw Harry. They had no indication that their precious, beloved Saviour, whom they had so recently maligned, had spent the previous five hours screaming and drowning in grief; his eyes were sore, but dry now.

They received no acknowledgment from him and the silence remained unbroken as he left the station, ducking his head and becoming inconspicuous as he entered the muggle crowd.

The muggle side of the barrier was louder, busy, and Harry slipped through easily, unnoticed. Even Vernon did not see him until he had already opened the car boot.

Harry was aware that the Order would be Most Displeased with Harry's swift departure, but if his guards could not find him, then neither could his enemies. He could not bear to see the people who had confined Sirius to that house, who had stopped the birds of paradise from coming. If Sirius had stayed in places abroad, he would still be alive. No. He had no wish to see the Order. Or Remus.

Uncle Vernon tried to pretend that he had not jumped when Harry had slammed the car door, but he never had been much for concealing anything. Harry caught a look at his reflection in the rear-view mirror and understood why his Uncle might fear him; a few hours may have taken the redness of crying away, but it couldn't conceal the blankness that Harry's eyes now held; all the fire burnt out of him. Let his Uncle be frightened, he couldn't have cared less.

Harry said nothing and eventually the car pulled away into traffic. The 'quiet' was disgusting, Vernon's heavy breathing, the roar of man-made rubber on man-made asphalt; it was horrible and Harry hunched in on himself. He longed for the roar of the wind and the feel of magic, but Hogwarts was so very far away. The trunk in the boot provided some comfort, at least; his picture album, now furnished and full of images of Sirius, the Marauders, even one of Snape and Lily. The man actually _smiled,_ occasionally, when the photo didn't know he was looking. Harry was... unhappy with Sirius for what he had seen in the Potions Masters pensive, and that bore with it the guilt of thinking bad of a dead man. It remained that, despite his innocence with respect to the crimes he had been _convicted_ for, he had still attempted double murder. He had risked, knowingly, the life of another person and jeopardised the life of one of his closest friends, unknowingly. Harry had had little chance to ask him about it and the tale hung over him like a guillotine, waiting to destroy any respect he might have had for Sirius.

"_We were young, Harry..."_

Such a limp reason; Harry didn't know if he could forgive them. And yet it didn't matter; the man was dead, gone, vanished, as was James Potter, as was Lily Evans and Harry's soul could not stand much more.

Harry was forced to begin memorizing street and road names to restrain the rekindled burning of emotion-driven magic that his thoughts were generating; it would not do to accidentally transfigure the car into something less stable, not when travelling at seventy miles an hour.

By the time they pulled into Privet Drive his face was once again empty, his emotions masked. He could keep it up for few hours at least, by which time he would be safe in Dudley's second bedroom, staring out into the dark and dreading falling asleep. His coat would turn back into robes soon and he'd be stuck with ragged jeans, t-shirts with holes in and his disintegrating trainers for the rest of summer; if the wizarding world could see him now...

Uncle Vernon barked at him to get out of the car, the first word's he'd spoken since the train station, and Harry clambered out and fetched his trunk. His knuckles hurt fiercely when he curled them around the handle and hauled it out of the car. Immediately after he'd slammed the boot closed, Vernon locked it, scowling at him with distrust.

He was ordered inside and he immediately disappeared upstairs; there was little point in talking to his relatives, after all. The house was as sterile as ever, despite being a little dirtier than it had been when he had left for fifth year, and his Aunt and Cousin were not in evidence. The photos on the walls remained still, the carpets did not have inbuilt cleaning charms and the staircase simply would not move. It felt so very wrong; dead and cold.

'His' room, Dudley's second bedroom, so graciously _lent_ to him after the letters began coming, had been messed with, again. More of Dudley's broken junk had been tossed unceremoniously onto the shelves, none of it of any use whatsoever, and the cot he normally slept on had no sheet or duvet, though his ratty pillow was peeking out dustily from under the bed.

He closed the door and lent heavily against it, this was not 'home', this space wasn't his, and he didn't have a claim to it at all... Not that he'd ever left anything here over the school year to suggest his continued existence to his relatives; they wouldn't have been grateful for the reminder.

He managed to peel himself off the door after a long sigh and a rub of his face. His trunk went against the end of the little bed, and he went to find some bed sheets.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

The first week was the hardest. His Aunt got him up at dawn each morning, usually not long after he had gone to sleep. Breakfast was to be on the table before Dudley got there; a target he made only twice, and then once the Dursley's had eaten, he was set to cleaning the entire house of the grime that had accumulated during Petunias lazy tenure.

There was no time to look at his books but there was no time to think either, at least during the day. By the time he shut himself in his room, the sun was setting and since he had yet to repair his desk lamp again all he could do was sit and stare out of the window until Sirius' death caught up with him again. Night after night, he went over the battle with his face scrunched up helplessly and tears making his cheeks sore and his head ache. Soon, the night of the Triwizard Tournament final joined in and Harry was stuck in a vicious, nightly cycle.

He stopped getting angry; he didn't hit things anymore, and he began shutting down. He spent the nights lying there, staring into the middle distance and unable to pull himself free from his waking nightmares. The lack of sleep had been a regular feature for most of his life, but that made him no less vulnerable to it, he didn't have the energy to rail against himself anymore or get worked up into another raging froth.

He rarely smiled at the Dursley's anyway but by the end of that first week nothing alleviated the well-deep and icy cold look to his eyes. He thought he must be scaring his Aunt, who began getting him up later and later and eventually just slipped a list of chores through his cat flap. She wouldn't even look at him anymore, Dudley never had bothered, and Vernon... well, Harry could do without his attention.

He hadn't had any visions, or headaches, and he wondered with a vicious kind of triumph whether Voldemort was hurt by his grief. That brought him to thinking about the prophecy and then it would start again, remembering the mad scramble to escape Umbridge and on, until Bellatrix fired that curse.

The reduction in his chores after that first week was not welcome; there was more time to think. At least he had Hedwig; she'd fly over to him when it got too much again and coo at him. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn't but he was grateful all the same.

That was the main reason he hadn't sent any post, despite the concerned letters from Ron and Hermione. Ron's handwriting was appalling and it reminded Harry that Sirius had not been the only casualty that night, the _confundus_ had worn off easily enough, but the wounds left by brain tentacles, (Harry shuddered) would take longer to heal. Hermione was worrying about OWL results already, unsurprisingly. Neither mentioned Snuffles, or Padfoot, or the DoM, and both had told him to 'be careful'.

He didn't think he was up to the task of pretending his godfather didn't exist just yet, or writing a letter that he didn't mind being intercepted, be it by Death Eaters or Dumbledore. But, most of all, he wanted to hang on to the company Hedwig provided.

So she stayed.

He had the entire afternoon free, one day two weeks into the holiday, so he got his DADA books out and began hauling over everything he had learnt in five years of schooling and the additional material he had accumulated, working with the DA. The mere act of reading books on magic helped and knowing that there were no spells here that could have stopped what happened helped a little more, whilst adding to his frustration;

It wasn't enough to convince himself that no fifth-year student could have done better because, now more than ever, he was aware that he wasn't _normal;_ there was no question that he was apart, singular, after hearing the prophecy.

Once his Defence texts were exhausted and he was convinced that he couldn't get any better without breaking the law, he moved on to his mothers' speciality, Charms. He couldn't practice, but he could learn the theory until it rolled off his quill like the knowledge was a part of his soul.

Before he realised, his birthday was creeping up on him and he had devoured his Charms and Transfiguration courses, in tribute to his parents and Sirius.

Perhaps most significantly, he developed a habit: at the end of each day, at about two in the morning, he would put his quill down, close his eyes and let himself _feel_, safe in the dark, with his relatives asleep. All that grief, and regret and pain would come surging to the surface and cover his mind like a heavy layer of snow, its surface blown into a fury by a storm. But, underneath, near the ground, the snow was still. Harry began to sleep better then, insulated from the violence of his own emotions by this strange stillness. Attempts to do the same during the day, however, left him almost catatonic and vulnerable to his Uncle, something he did not do twice.

He could do nothing but fall into a deep sleep in that state, but fortunately it was one he could hold onto for a few hours before the dreams returned. His daemons didn't hurt him enough for their satisfaction during daylight, it would seem.

Potions represented his next great challenge, one more fraught than Charms and Transfigurations. Those, he'd thrown himself at for the sake of people he'd cared for, Potions was for the sake of his own mistakes. It made his chest seize with that burning hot lack of air that these days predicted a wild outpouring of magic and rage as he turned the blame for his godfathers' death on himself. If he had just_ listened_ to Snape... _Professor_ Snape, then Voldemort would not have been able to set his plan in motion. He managed to restrain his magic, barely, until his books stopped having the same effect on him.

With every formula, technique and preparation he studied, he was reminded of the Potions Professors voice, booming out over the classroom, banishing a potion that was about to rain boils, or poison, or fire down on his students. He was faced with the unavoidable realization that everything the man had done, _so much_, was for the right reasons. Harry even longed for a Pensive so he could confirm his suspicion that the man had glanced at the children-of-Death-Eaters during that initial, horrifying lesson.

"_Ah, Harry Potter. Our new... Celebrity..."_

All his suspicious behaviour in first year; hindering Quirrel. Second year; brewing the Mandrake draught. Third; throwing himself in front of an _untamed werewolf_. Fourth; trying to evict him from the tournament.

Fifth. Trying to teach him Occlumency. Harry had resisted so very hard, wanting desperately to _know_ what the Dark lord was doing, desperate for knowledge that he now recognised could not be given to him until he had learnt what Snape had tried to teach. He realised, one night when even the early hours of the morning did not bring sleep and he lay stuck in his own body, that even the man's methods had been keenly attuned to Harry's skill. His best charms work had always been during a duel, his best flying had been against the dragon during the First Round and he had only produced a corporeal patronus once faced with a Dementor.

There was only one conclusion to be drawn from all of this; Professor Snape, Potion's Master, was a spy, and firmly on Dumbledore's side. He promptly pushed the thought as far down in the back of his mind as he could; Snape _would_ die, if Voldemort saw that thought. Even if he believed he had Snape's loyalty, the man would still end up dead, once ordered to bring Harry to him using Harry's belief that Snape could be trusted.

He admitted it to himself, on that night of revelations, that it had been wholly his own doing that had robbed him of Occlumency. With the admission came the certainty that he could and _would_ learn, should he be given another chance, hence his intense study moving on to potions. He would earn the right to apologise to the man, to be believed when he did so and he would start by showing respect for the man's life work; Potions.

It was much, much harder than theoretical wand work. He practiced preparation as he cooked for his relatives, trying, as he had never done before, to generate the different surface-area to volume ratios required. He felt like a fool when he discovered an appendix he had never bothered to read that explained the importance of sliced verses slivered and crushed verses ground; suddenly every incomprehensible scolding Hermione had ever given him began to make sense. He practiced stirring his relative's lunchtime soup until the spoon left a perfect figure of eight wake on the surface but despite all his efforts, he had the horrible feeling that it wouldn't be enough to brew a perfect potion, let alone earn Snape's respect.

As he couldn't risk brewing in the house, he concentrated on the _why_'s and _how's_ of the reactions, it even proved interesting; he laughed when he worked out how Neville's very first potion had generated so much heat as to melt the cauldron. That proved a useful avenue of thought; he began writing up why every accident he had caused or had seen occur, realising with grim satisfaction what Hermione had known all along; if any of them had bothered to read the assignments beyond just the recipe then none of the explosions and trips to the infirmary would have happened.

It also explained how Malfoy had always known what to throw into his brew to make it look like he had botched it. With a little effort... yes, Harry thought, he could learn to correct his potions for the addition of most common ingredients...

He was halfway through this new project when _it_ arrived. No owl; Hedwig hadn't made it back before dawn and was hiding out in the trees at the bottom of the garden, no magical envelope fluttering in under its own power, just a small pop and a brown parcel dropped on his bed. With Severus Snape heavy on his mind, these days, Harry did not touch the parcel immediately. Using a long stirring rod, he flipped over the tag;

_Harry, _

_Padfoot and I __have been__ were working on this for you together, it's done now, though. Take care, Harry, and talk to Professor McGonagall once you've finished reading the book. __I'm sor__It wasn'__ I know you miss him. Hang in there. _

_Moony._

He backed away from the letter, unable to keep calm. That hot feeling started up in his chest again and he struggled to breathe. The glass in his window cracked, the bulb overhead exploded, he dragged air in through a protesting throat, and forced it out again in a prolonged hiss.

_Padfoot and I._

He could feel the wild magic, (could it truly be called accidental once you had a wand? He didn't know,) tearing its way out of him. Unsatisfied with just the lamps, Harry's meagre bed was next and the cloth around the package shredded under the force of it.

_NO, NONO, NO! _He had managed so_ well_! He hadn't done this in weeks, not since the train, and now he was away from Hogwarts' magic, the Ministry would...! Destroying Dumbledore's office had been bad enough...

_I know you miss him._

"AAh! No! _No! _Leave me alone! I can't... I _can't!_" Harry couldn't restrain his magic, as much as he tried, not when Moony's handwriting was staring him in the face like that. The full force of his grief came rushing back; for his parents, for Cedric and ...for Sirius. He fell to his knees as the floor bucked under the rush of magic. The sound of tearing wood and breaking glass filled the room as floorboards twisted and splintered and Harry's bedside lamp was thrown to the boards; the naked bulb didn't have a chance. Screams, both angry and frightened, sounded from downstairs, even as the floor stopped heaving, but Harry didn't hear them. He stumbled back to his feet and reached for the package. He could see that he had picked it up, but could feel nothing; he fumbled it and managed to clutch it to his chest with unfeeling fingers as he slumped, boneless, on the floor against the bed. Burning tears filled his eyes and he scrunched his eyes closed against the feeling.

"Oh, Merlin... I'm sorry, I'm so _SORRY_! I couldn't... there wasn't any..." His voice trailed off as something finally pierced through the firestorm of emotions around him. The pounding of footsteps on the staircase was loud enough to get to him. He choked, panicked and frightened, convinced that the ministry would break his wand, that the Dursley's would throw him out, that the Death Eaters would be waiting.

A final lash of heat formed in his chest and magic rushed out and impacted on the door, warping it out of shape and making the doorframe grow roots and branches and leaves. Not a moment too soon, it would seem; Uncle Vernon practically _snarled_ when he couldn't open the door, yelling obscenely and obviously throwing his weight against the plywood. The door shuddered as Harry watched in numb horror, but the doorframe held and his Uncle changed tactics; he had already thrown Harry out once, after he had blown up Aunt Marge, and again after the incident with the dementors, (or so Harry had let him believe,) and now he was yelling his determination to do it again.

Harry thought he couldn't have gotten more panicked, but he did. He sailed through panic and right out the other side into a place of cutting clarity. His heart raced fit to burst, that horrible, clammy sweat still covered him, but he moved with purpose; his trunk was flung open and he pulled his wand out of its Ollivander's box. His clothes were already there, since he hadn't bothered using the broken wardrobe, so he threw his books in, followed by the reams and reams of parchment he had been using to study. He'd been surprised at how much he'd used, the second time he had ordered more, but he _had_ re-written five years and two and a half subjects worth of notes... With difficulty, he picked up the package on his bed and laid it on top. He couldn't look at it, but the tremulous feeling in his chest promised that when he did open it, it'd be... intense.

He avoided looking at the broken glass and splintered floor, to the extent that he resolutely did _not_ notice stepping on one of the fine shards and slicing the arch of his foot open. He ignored the pain, barely felt it, and pulled the glass out swiftly as he put his trainers on without socks. He scrambled under the bed, ripping up the loose floor board and retrieving his cloak and album.

The door gave another great shudder,

"That's it, Dudley, together now..."

"But Dad..."

"I'll buy you a beer, ok, Duds? Just help m-"

"Vernon!" A gasp, "look!"

Harry looked back at the door, terror creeping back into his panic. The doorframe was still growing, and it looked like his relatives had noticed;

"STOP THIS FREAKISHNESS RIGHT NOW! Do you hear me POTTER?" another great shudder and the flimsy door split right down the middle of the top panel and a gap opened up. Harry caught a glimpse of a red face with teeth bared and sweat dripping down its jowls. He shuddered in horror and backed towards the window, unwilling to take his eyes of his relatives.

This _was_ his fault, he knew, and the Dursley's had every right to throw him out, but he'd rather he didn't get another bruise to explain to the Weasley's just before he left!

"You're not our family, Harry Potter! And I won't stand for this freakishness! You're going to leave, do you hear me! Don't you dare call this place 'home' ever again!"

So that was it... Harry felt the wards go down. When Dumbledore had explained about them, he had said that Harry needed to live there, using specifically the words "as long as you can call it home"... but now, he obviously couldn't any more.

The rush of magic falling out of the wardsphere and back into the ground felt like water from a hot shower as it trickled over him. It was almost comforting, until it disappeared, leaving him cold.

"What the _blazes_ was that? What have you done to us?" Ah... his Uncle obviously didn't know the significance of that sensation... why would he? He despised Harry's magical heritage, after all. But Harry knew, and Aunt Petunia knew; she began screeching.

It was time to leave, truly and for good.

But how? If he cast any spells, his place at Hogwarts would be completely un-saveable. His trunk was pretty heavy, too heavy for his racing broom, but he couldn't leave without it! His Uncle had threatened to burn his books time and time again, and Harry knew that now, after this, he wouldn't just threaten. Harry'd lose everything. He could take his invisibility cloak, it weighed practically nothing, but his money pouch and album would take up the rest of his brooms weight limit, he'd be a sitting duck for aerial attack, with no practically manoeuvrability.

But... he looked at the door again, Vernon's fine leather shoes showed through the crack as he kicked it wider and it extended towards the floor. The man's vitriol hadn't stopped for a second...

An insane laugh bubbled up from Harry's chest, he really was trapped; between loosing the only mementoes he had of his mother, being utterly helpless - unable to even rent a room at the leaky cauldron – and being killed by Death Eaters. Or perhaps not killed; bound and shipped like cattle to Voldemort. At least he _had _considered his options this time, instead of rushing off on the first Wizarding transportation he could find. Professor Snape would be proud.

As if his thoughts had stunned the universe, it went quiet. Then the noise that had shut his relatives up came again; thunk, thunk. It was incongruously ominous for a knock on the door and Harry shrunk back into the corner between his destroyed bed and the window, he could hear Petunia hissing at Vernon as two sets of footsteps descended the staircase.

"That'd better be one of _your_ _lot, _Potter, or you'll regret dumping plaster on the telly for the rest of the holidays." Harry couldn't help it; hysterical laughter escaped him again and he slid to the floor, dropping his head to his knees. Hadn't Dudley heard? His _dear-old-dad_ was going to throw Harry to the wolves, practically already had! Was he trying to be menacing? After his father's impression of a moon-struck werewolf, it wasn't very effective.

"...upstairs. You take him away with you, you hear! I'll have no more freakishness in MY HOUSE!" The first footsteps of the staircase belonged to Petunia and Harry listened as she cajoled Dudley into the 'safety' of his bedroom. The second set was quieter, more controlled and faster, almost on his Aunt's heels.

The blasting charm fired at his warped door was much more effective than his Uncles bulk.


	2. Chapter 2: A Private World

_AN: The cavalry arrives, portkeys are taken and Harry makes an unfortunate miscalculation. _

_**AN2: Finally got the Formatting issues corrected, had to edit the HTML in the end. I have no idea what went wrong. Thanks to those reviewers who pointed out the problem, and sorry to everyone else. This should be considerably more legible now. **  
_

Chapter 2: A private world.

The man on the other side was blatantly furious as he stormed the room. It wasn't like storming into his potions classroom; it was militant - brutal, efficient. Snape's dark eyes swept the room, as did his wand and his stride was precise. Harry froze against the wall, only the splintered bed between him and a man who had very little time for him; the trust he had for him was still fragile. The wreckage of bed and floorboards was navigated in four quick steps and the man raised his wand to the window, an incantation on his lips already. Throughout the house, Harry could hear the same thing happening as temporary wards went up. He recognised Remus' voice in the chorus and it felt like he'd taken a blow to the chest; it was just too much, all of it.

Black robes were only inches away from him now, swishing against his trainers. Harry pressed his back as far into the corner as he could go; Snape really was tall, particularly from down on the floor. The look on his face was frightening; more so than his worst Potions-master vitriol, even, because of the intensity of focus as he scanned the street outside the window. Soon, those eyes were turning to Harry and scanning the room. A sharp hiss of breath was all the indication Harry got that he'd seen something he didn't like.

"You are injured. Where?" All of a sudden, those shielded, black eyes were too close, too intense and Harry couldn't get away. The edges of his vision began to grey out and he realised that he couldn't breathe, oh, or was it that he was breathing too much? A wand pointed at his throat and he jerked violently back, his head impacting on the wall, and fumbled with numb fingers for his own wand.

"Arthur! Your assistance, please! Take up the wards,"

Too loud! Harry screamed silently, tucking his head into the comfort of his arms, not caring that it made his wand hand useless; he could do little more than fumble anyway. At least he protected his throat and face this way. A rush of magic rippled over him, bringing to mind Madam Pomfrey and the Infirmary. A diagnostic charm?

"How is he, Severus? Was it the Dark Lord?" Mr Weasley's voice could never have sounded more welcome. It gave Harry the incentive to peek out of his little shell. Snape was still close but he was looking down at his leg, bent in a crouch now, running fingers over a strap around his thigh that held tens of tiny vials. Ron's dad was hovering nervously behind the potions master, looking out the window, then back at Harry.

"I cannot tell. He is largely uninjured, however." As he watched, Snape plucked four vials out of their loops and they enlarged automatically. Harry recognised the calming draught and Dreamless sleep by colour,

"No, No! I'm fine, don't put me to sleep! Sir-!" His voice came out as more of a whine than actual words; his throat was rough and thick. It shouldn't have been surprising... he didn't use it often, and when he did, it was for sobbing and screaming.

His statement had brought the potions master to an abrupt halt, however.

"You just destroyed some of the strongest wards in wizardom; forgive me for wishing to treat you for magical exhaustion!" Those eyes bored into Harry's again and he felt the first probes of a wordless Legilimense but they found no purchase in his stormy mind, Harry felt them slip away again. Snape's reaction would have been frightening, were Harry not so far into confusion; the man _winced_ as if in pain, and Harry saw his hand shake briefly.

"It-" His voice cracked and he coughed to clear it, "It wasn't me, it was U-u-ncle Vernon, they fell when he r-r-refused me the right of 'home'. I... accidental magic, I couldn't... I felt her magic; it's all gone..." Harry thought that that could have been the hardest phrase he had ever spoken, but it just escaped him without his permission. Snape flinched again;

"Very well... remain awake, but you will take the others! We will be portkeying out in less than five minutes."

Snape backed away then, handing Mr Weasley three vials. The two swapped positions and Harry was fed the potions one by one. The first was the familiar, if disgusting, chalky gloop of a calming draught. The second a general Heal-All that Harry was unfortunately and intimately familiar with, but the third wasn't like anything he'd ever tasted before; strongly aromatic and almost vaporously light with the distinct and overpowering flavour of pear drops.

Harry coughed and spluttered after that one, even as he felt the bruise he had given himself on the back of his head and the cut on his foot stop hurting as sharply.

"Severus, quickly!" Dumbledore? Harry hadn't known he was here... but, if he was, if Remus was, why had they sent Snape to him?

Harry was so very confused... everything had happened so quickly...

There was more shouting, his relative's irate voices were familiar and more than recognisable. They had made him flinch time and time again and that instance was no different, but, as much as he wanted to hide, the calming draught let him keep his head. He took Mr Weasley's hand when it was offered and was pulled to his feet.

"Here they come! Port in thirty!" Shacklebolt, definitely. His booming voice filled the house easily, without sounding strained or _Sonorous'_ed. Harry put his back to the wall next to his window, where the temporary wards were strongest and peered 'round the frame. Coming up the street, in broad evening sun, were seven, possibly eight Death Eaters. More were apparating in, even as he watched.

"Shit."

"Eloquent as always, Mr Potter." Harry glanced at his professor, who had a line of unshrunk potion vials on his stretch of windowsill and was weaponising them using short term-anti shattering charms and bouncing hexes. "Open the window, in three... two..." Harry's eyes widened and he stepped back, on hand on the sash, ready to lift it; "...one, now!" He slammed the sash up as the Potions Master's _momentia_ struck the vials and sent them bouncing into the advancing Death Eaters.

"First volley, away! Wands up!" Snape yelled back into the house, "You too, Potter,"

The vials bounced once, then twice, and shattered in mid air, at approximately head height. Their assailants scattered, covering their mouths, but four went down with a look of horror on their sleeping faces. A fifth staggered as the sleeping potion caught him as it was dissipating and a bolt of red from Dudley's bedroom window dropped him to the pavement.

"Fifteen seconds!" Shacklebolt yelled again, Harry stood with just his eyes and wand hand visible through the window, firing hexes and spells at the remaining Death Eaters. The potions were keeping his hand steady and his aim was good but he felt dazed, something was just... wrong, in his head. He saw Mr Weasley out of the corner of his eye, crouching below the window pane, holding an empty crisp packet that he assumed was the portkey and flicking his wand to maintain the temporary wards. A glance at Professor Snape showed that he was more than aware; he was keeping his free hand near the object. Harry followed suit, crouching down so he was firing over the sill instead of around the edge so he could reach it with his left hand. He didn't watch to see if his spells hit their marks, and got his head back down as soon as he'd fired a shot. Curses were coming in hard and fast as the potion smoke cleared, plaster rained down and slates fell to shatter on the pavement below. Muffled curses filled the house and he could even hear his Aunt screeching somewhere.

It was... intense. Harry couldn't feel the panic that had plagued him before, partly due to the calming draught and partly because he was _doing_ something, _fighting_. He fired _stupefy _after _stupefy_, ducking back into cover when curses flashed towards their window, then looking out again when the spell light dissipated.

Snape's hex combinations were a little more inventive than Harry's and he caught a glimpse of a Death Eater crumpling as a combination of non-verbal spells turned its hands and feet into small boulders. Thinking of his Transfiguration revision, Harry followed that one up with a ground-to-ice transformation and the Death Eater wasn't about to get up any time soon. Harry re-cast the transfiguration over the road, trying to disrupt as many hostile aim's as possible.

"Five!" Harry set off one last volley, breathing heavily as his magic flowed out of depleted reserves during the intense barrage, then ducked fully behind the wall again. Snape soon followed, getting his head below the parapet, so to speak.

"FOUR!" Harry noted that his Professor's hair was slicked back into a tail, he felt like the world had just tilted; it was so strange.

"THREE!" The spell barrage on the house picked up as the number of defenders firing spells decreased,

"TWO!" Harry reached out and grabbed a corner of the crisp packet,

"ONE!" Snape joined him,

"PORTUS!" Harry realised, as that horrible hook grabbed hold of his insides, that the portkeys were double-blind, they needed a specific time, and a keyword to activate. Sensible, he supposed, as he tried not to be violently ill all over his best mate's Dad and his Potions Professor.

At least he hadn't had to think about Sirius, given how hectic the last ten minutes had been. Then, though, he felt the delicate strength the Death Eaters had invoked in him crumple and he wasn't able remain standing when the portkey vomited them into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place in a swirl of nauseating colour. He was dizzy and felt weak, like the portkey was still going, even though he had let it go when he'd landed.

"Harry? Poor lad; never could handle portkeys." Mr Weasley was right there next to him, looking slightly blurred around the edges. Harry pushed his glasses up out of habit and the image came back into focus. There was a noncommittal grunt from Snape, and Harry realised that they were being quiet to avoid waking Sirius' mother. He couldn't get angry, couldn't rage, not after a calming draught and a magically exhausting few hours, but the fact that he was lying on his _dead godfathers floor_ was unequivocally not good.

More sound began to filter through the house as other Order groups emerged from their portkey destination rooms. Dumbledore and Shacklebolt came out of the Parlour nearby just as Harry began to lever himself into a sitting position, at the urgings of Mr Weasley. The movement cost him a spell of dizziness and a brief greying out of his vision. When he got his senses back, Snape was crouched beside him again, wand pointed at his chest.

"He is magically drained, but not dangerously so. The main concern now is low blood sugar levels; Arthur, I believe that is your Wife's purview. Food and rest; he will be no further use to anyone today." Snape gave him one last piercing look, gripping his chin firmly and looking him in the eye, before standing and stepping away. The brief touch of Legilimency was not welcome and Snape had concealed a very odd look, to Harry's vague bemusement, as he turned. The man pulled Dumbledore aside, and Harry could just hear the start of their conversation before Mr Weasley had him on his feet and stumbling towards the kitchen.

"Headmaster, I must return to Spinners End, my research is not secure there any longer; my report will be unfavourable and the Dark lord may decide that the destruction of my lab is apt punishment."

"Very well, Severus, but please, be quick. We will need your skills soon; this battle is not yet over. We will be re-mobilising in but a moment, to round up the remaining Death Eaters; Poppy will need potions, fresh, for as long as you are able."

"Indeed. I will gather my equipment. ...It was rather satisfying to hex Nott at last. He should remain at Privet Drive until you return there."

"Quite, Kingsley was rather impressed."

"The Dark Lord will not call me until it is all over, may I suggest an information plant? The younger Crabbe is as useless to them as he is to us and is unlikely to doubt any words spoken carelessly."

Harry could only vaguely hear Dumbledore's reply, something about Aurors, before the stairs muffled it.

Mrs Weasley was in full swing, the kitchen was full of the smell of baking and clattering pots, but she still rushed over to him, the moment Mr Weasley closed the door to the stairs.

"Hey Mrs Weasley," Harry said, into her neck as she held him tight against her chest and took most of his weight.

"Oh Harry! I was so worried..." She pulled back, a moment too soon for his liking, and patted his shoulders, looking straight into his eyes, "Are you well? Let's get some food in you, oh, you're so skinny!" She rattled on, mile a minute, and Harry found himself smiling and crying at the same time; she really was the perfect mum... "Oh, Harry..." This time, when she hugged him, he held on tight and felt Mr Weasley join in.

Eventually, Mrs Weasley's desire to feed him took over; there was a moment of awkwardness as they pulled away and Harry snuffled and wiped his eyes before he was sat down with a plate of shepherd's pie and steaming carrots. Harry ate slowly and deliberately, listening to the chaos in the rest of the house and trying not to fall asleep in his food. Mr Weasley left to 'get another shot in' much to his wife's disapproval, and Mrs Weasley went back to her scone dough, slapping it on to baking trays with greater than necessary force.

Occasionally, people came through the floo or left by it, and Harry caught snatches of conversation. It sounded like no one had been hurt in the rescue, but the following battle was much more complicated. There was talk of Number 4 burning and Harry stopped listening. He was slightly worried about how little he cared about the Dursley's fate but hadn't the energy to make a fuss.

Harry saw curse victims, sometimes, often on their way to the Hogwarts Infirmary. No one he knew, yet. Snape passed through again at one point, handing off a bound, stunned, masked and Obliviated Death Eater to the Order Aurors and levitating boxes of what Harry assumed contained his research. The black robed figure could only be Crabbe, Draco Malfoy's Crabbe, and Harry shuddered; the war had just got a little closer to Hogwarts and who could tell what Draco bloody Malfoy would be like as a Death Eater.

Snape disappeared into another part of the basement, his box already unpacking itself into a floating cloud of cauldrons and crucibles that flowed into the lab neatly. Harry was just finishing up his food when a note, precisely folded into a bird that looked like some kind of crow with a long tail, perhaps a magpie, flew out of the lab and Floo'ed itself to the Infirmary in a shower of green sparkles. An answer appeared soon, in form of a paper dove and fluttered to the lab. Harry watched it go, strangely enthralled by the fluttery movements.

Harry felt... strange, drifty, which was weird because that dose of calming draught should have worn off by then. He frowned and propped an elbow up on the scrubbed table to lean his chin on. He filtered out the sounds of Mrs Weasley whisking cream and the sharp tapping of Snape's potions knife, taptaptap-thunk, taptaptap-thunk. He was running a risk of slipping too deep by doing this, he knew; his Uncle had found him practically catatonic a week and a half ago and smacked him out of it. Without the process of going to sleep and waking up naturally, he wasn't sure that he could come out of it on his own. But, he thought, the strange sensation was clawing at him, demanding that he pay attention... and both Mrs Weasley and Snape were nearby to 'wake' him up; a potion vial floated past him, dipped itself in the Floo powder and vanished in a pop of green, much like the note had before.

It was more difficult to sink into himself at mid-afternoon, after his second major battle, than it usually was, at two in the morning after hours of studying, but he was _tired_. He had to allow all the things he squashed down so well to rise up gently, like snow building up, so that he was protected when he let go of the really bad stuff. The feeling of calm pressed down on him, lying between the snow and the earth. He knew, by then, that the earth and grass, wind and snow were more than just... some image, _this_ was the place Snape had gotten to the year before; the grass grew as he studied, the snow covering him were things he could handle remembering and the storm above that... Harry gave a mental shudder and buried himself further into the snow. Whether it was some...weird metaphor or some figment of a dream, he didn't know, but it was comforting to lie curled up under the snow.

Once he was fully under, covered and insulated, he let go of all the things that had spilled out of him with his magic that afternoon. The accusations and guilt and fear. He didn't look at them, pushed them away, and they settled above the snow, whipping the surface up into a maelstrom. Harry wasn't sure if there was some sort of 'sky' up there, like there was earth and grass, but there was the feeling of chaos, like storm winds. He wasn't aware of breathing or feeling or hearing anything in that place, though he could still just about feel his body, there was just _knowledge_, in the absence of sensation here. It made a weird kind of sense to Harry, after all, this place _wasn't_ real, there wasn't any air or earth or grass, just his own mind, and surely he should know his own mind?

This brought him back to the original reason for risking catatonia; the strange sensation that he couldn't identify. With great concentration he compared this version of his mind with what he remembered from the night before. He... there were differences... telling what they were... was the snow deeper? More comfortable? Maybe... The sensation of chaos _was_ less. It took him a while to gather up the courage to direct his attention to the maelstrom; up there was everything he had to avoid thinking about. Maybe if he was slow... perhaps he could think about the facts, while being protected from the emotions by the 'snow'. He felt his physical self shiver at that, he'd just experienced the consequences of thinking about his Godfathers death that very day, to be contemplating doing so again was... He was justified in being apprehensive.

Very carefully, very slowly, he brought to mind the package that had set this whole thing off. It was probably a book, he realised, from the shape and weight. Another Defence text, maybe? Like the one he'd had for Christmas. He'd open it later, soon later, not like the mirror. That thought made his mental image tremble with guilt, which he had to carefully and delicately push away before it dislodged too much of the snow, before it could hurt him. _I'm not thinking about that, that's for later, I'm not thinking about that..._ after a while, it receded again, and he returned to the puzzle.

Thinking about the tag, the words that had set all of this off, was his next step and was as fraught as remembering the mirror. Especially the lines that had been crossed out-not-quite-enough. There was nothing he could do about the tremors this time; he just had to accept that this stuff was upsetting. It was _right_ that he was upset. This was what he had to think about, had to get sorted in his head.

_"Oh, Merlin... I'm sorry, I'm so SORRY! I couldn't... there wasn't any..."_

Yes. There.

As he thought through the memory, the snatch of speech and the connected thoughts jumped out at him. _There was nothing he could have done._ Once they had left for the ministry, Harry had done everything he possibly could, and Sirius had still fallen. The tremors stopped.

The more times he ran through the battle, the clearer it became and the more certain he could be. Had he done anything differently in the Death Chamber, he would have been sacrificing Neville, and before that, the prophesy. He had been facing off with _Lucius Malfoy_ when Sirius and Bellatrix had fought, he would not have hesitated to kill him and Neville both.

That realization had been lost in the chaos of accidental magic, being denied the right of 'home' and the 'Battle for Number Four' but he had retained it in a small way. The feeling of looseness, 'drifting', he now realised came from the need to revaluate some of his memories, the sudden shift from wanting to go back and change his actions to this certainty that he could have done nothing differently, had disjointed them. The sensation had disappeared progressively as he thought about it. He felt solid, now. Sad, grief stricken, still, but the maelstrom had receded a little and he added the memory of the battle to the other, more benign memories.

A strong feeling of satisfaction grounded him and he relaxed into the earth and grass of his image, letting his concentration and attention begin to dissipate. The vague thought that he was glad Mrs Weasley was around gave him a jerk and he drew his concentration back together. He'd never managed to wake up from this, before. He usually didn't remember falling asleep once he woke up so he didn't know how long he maintained his construct while sleeping. He'd guessed that it was for a fairly long time, since he had few nightmares and woke up at least marginally rested. If he just let go of the construct all at once, he knew he'd be swamped by the things he wasn't ready to face and who knows what would happen then, more accidental magic? Not that he had much left, he felt hollow and weak; the burst of accidental magic and then the rushed and over powered spells needed in the battle had left him exhausted.

He could still feel his body, at least, and smell Mrs Weasley's scones, he thought he'd probably be ok if he got shocked out of this weird state like he had when Uncle Vernon had hit him; "ignore me, will you, brat?" The pain had distracted and shocked him pretty thoroughly and the images and feelings that made up the storm had returned to their now-habitual suppressed state. He didn't think he could do that without the shock of a strike to help, or whatever happened while he slept.

_"Harry, would you like raspberry or strawberry jam, dear?"_

Ah.

Harry couldn't respond. He knew his eyes were closed and he was still sitting upright with his head balanced on his hand, but he couldn't _do_ anything. It was frightening, vulnerable. From his Uncles actions, he knew that he could be moved, yelled at even, without releasing the construct, without being able to respond until he got a proper jolt. Someone could whisk him away, through the Floo, and he'd be able to do nothing about it. The storm above the snow began to pick up, catching his attention; his fear and panic were adding to it, joining in with his guilt and anger and only making the problem worse.

_"Harry? Come, now, wake up!"_ She sounded worried; he could feel her hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He concentrated on the sensation, trying to find a way back, but every time he pushed, the snow would shift and some of the pain would get in, some of the storm. He retreated again, whimpering in his own mind, trapped.

Reckless! He knew he had been. Maybe he'd used up his restraint in not running from Number Four, but however it'd happened, he'd done exactly what Snape would have expected him to do; he'd messed with mind magic and needed _saving_.

_"Harry!"_ She shook him a little harder and his head fell of his hand. Unable to access his muscles, Harry felt himself begin to slip sideways. _"Severus, quickly!"_

She managed to keep him propped in his chair with a hand on his chest. She lifted his chin and patted his cheeks, scrutinized him, felt his temperature, but nothing was piercing the storm from the outside and he couldn't do anything from the inside; he couldn't risk accidental magic with her so close! The state of Dudley's second bedroom could attest to that.

Facing his memories of the Battle beneath the Ministry had been bad enough and he had already _had_ the realization that there was nothing he could have done. The rest... he really _was_ at fault for calling the Order to the Ministry... Argh! no, no! He had to stop thinking about it, or he'd tear himself apart!

He felt, more than saw or heard, Snape arrive. The man had serious _presence_, all strength and dark, velvety magic. It was like a hum, or maybe a feeling of warmth, extending out from him and getting stronger as he approached. Brisk, long fingered hands took Harry's pulse and temperature. His head was tipped back again and this time, his eyes were thumbed open one at a time and a light shone in them. He felt his iris contract painfully, like when he stepped out into the sun after being locked in his cupboard.

"_His eyes are blown, but responsive. Pulse is slow and his temperature a little low... Help me get him up on the table." _

Well that was embarrassing... his head lolled over the Potion Masters arm and his arms and legs dangled loosely until someone, Mrs Weasley, probably, folded his hands across his chest and lifted his feet onto the table. Snape was surprisingly gentle with his unresponsive body, holding his head until Mrs Weasley slipped something soft under it. Diagnostic charms ran over him in a chill wave and he could feel the hairs on his arms lifting under his jumper.

_"He appears to be somehow conscious... Lift his fringe."_ Harry had never noticed how deep Snape's voice was when he was concentrating before, but all he could do now was lie there and listen. It rumbled every time the man said an 'R', and he drawled out his 'A's too... He was embarrassed, but he knew Snape would Legilimise or hit him eventually, so he wasn't fearful anymore. Given the number of times the man had saved his life, Harry felt safe being that vulnerable with him there. Molly Weasley was very much a comfort, though.

Her hand was lovely and warm when she brushed his fringe up to show his scar. It didn't hurt so he knew it was the silvery pink it had been since the end of term. He'd wondered whether Voldemort had been really hurt by getting thrown out of his mind, or maybe the maelstrom hurt him as much as it hurt Harry. Either way, he'd been left largely alone for almost a month and his scar had healed up again. The warm tip of Snape's wand touched his temple and he cast a curse detection charm Harry recognised from after the Battle beneath the Ministry. Others followed, including an Owl-Eye charm that kept Harry's eyes open, letting them blink every few seconds. Snape asked, commanded and demanded that Harry follow the tip of his wand, which was lit up faintly.

Harry could see through his eyes, but when he tried to move them it required reaching through the storm again, he tried and tried, looking for a way around that wouldn't destroy his control over his magic, trying to ignore the swirling emotions that had him trapped, but the more he ignored them, the less he could reach out and the further away Snape's voice became. Fear of losing that connection to reality stopped him eventually and he whimpered under the snow. He could feel the strain those attempts had put on him, the proximity of the storm while he reached out made his magic churn and froth, making his chest ache. He could hear and feel his own breathing getting ragged and he felt very, very cold. Mrs Weasley was gripping his hand, he realised, and that helped as he shifted back and relaxed into the soft hold of the snow.

Perhaps, if he couldn't go himself, he could send something else, like a patronus, as a message. A memory maybe, if Snape looked him in the eye again. _Something that would show him how to help._ He was definitely more worried about the Legilimency option, but he didn't think Snape would hit a conscious-unconscious person, and besides, he didn't want Mrs Weasley to see that.

_"It is not a vision... but it_ is_ taxing,"_ Harry could feel his own breath bouncing back off a hand near his mouth, he was still half panting. Snape leaned over him and appeared to be examining his scar again, with a deep frown. He actually looked concerned, which made Harry's chest hurt again. He wished he could see Mrs Weasley, he imagined she must be frantic; if Snape was showing his worry it would be under the assumption that he was unobserved. The warm grip on his hand tightened and he drew some strength from that to gather up a memory. The only one he could think of that would get his point across was the one of his Uncle jerking him out of this state before, but that ended with a pretty vicious back hand... if he took the first half of that one, then added one of Snape firing Legilimency at him... yes. He stuck the two memories together, though he wasn't sure how he'd managed it, and gathered them into a tight bundle with a touch of magic, as if he was casting a patronus. It wouldn't _be_ a patronus, since the memories were definitely not happy, but he hoped that Snape, a strong Legilimense, would be able to feel them and pick them up. If only the man would look into his eyes again...

_"He is not in immediate physiological danger, but without an explanation for his state, I cannot be sure of the same for his mind."_

_"But! Oh Harry..." _

_"I must fetch the Headmaster,"_

'NO! No, come back!' Harry screamed from under the snow. The storm picked up and Harry risked reaching out through it even as his panic worsened it.

'Don't _LEAVE_!' He hadn't realised that he had a voice in the construct, since he didn't have a body there. He couldn't feel it or hear it; he just knew the words were suddenly there, as if spoken by silence. As he reached and pushed against the storm, it struck back painfully, eroding his control of his magic and sending it sparking across his skin. He heard a short scream, a yelp, and the warm hand holding his vanished.

_"Severus, look!"_

Harry managed to twitch his fingers, then his wrist, enduring the onslaught of guilt and fear. He managed to _look_, actually look, into Snape's eyes, and just for a brief second he looked back. Harry threw the memories at him and the man's eyes widened. Reassured that he'd gotten the message, Harry fled, back under the snow. He could feel his limbs shivering against the wood and his chest heaving from the effort but he had to concentrate on drawing his magic back around him, into him, before he hurt Mrs Weasley again, or Snape.

He was somehow less aware of what he could see, once he'd retreated, but Snape's face suddenly appearing barely a foot away was pretty attention grabbing. The mutter of "_Legilimens!"_ was a relief, as well as a curse, as Snape's magic speared into his mind. It was painful, in a different way to how the storm attacked him, and made his head throb immediately but he could _feel_ the presence of another mind. It was terrifying and wonderful, all at once.

'I'm sorry, Professor! I shouldn't have tried it, but I was so confused and I couldn't-'

"Potter?" He saw the Professors lips move and heard his voice through his ears, but he also knew they were there in his mind. It made them echo,

'Yesir, I'm trapped! Please...'

"Breathe, Potter. Where are you?" Harry tried to obey and calm down enough that his body could take a proper breath. It was hard, almost _too _hard, but the warm, long fingered hand on his forehead gave him something to concentrate on.

'Under the snow, sir... I can't get past- ...I can't get out!' There was an aggravated sigh, only detectable in Harry's mind,

"Only you, Potter. Remain where you are, I will retrieve you momentarily." The presence retreated and Harry could have sobbed in relief, at both the removal of the curse and the promise.

_"He is in a deep state of Occlumency, I can and will free him, but I cannot be disturbed while I do so. It would be both painful and damaging, if interrupted." _There was a wash of warm magic over his eyes and they closed again. Harry didn't mind, they'd been getting sore, and he felt safe enough; relief was his primary emotion. A second wash left him feeling light as a feather, which he probably was, and he was lifted into strong arms.

_"His room... He's in the Master bedroom now, the House insisted." _

_"Very well, if you would be so kind..."_

The door opened, presumably at Mrs Weasley's hand, and Harry felt himself being carried up stairs. The House was quiet, now. Harry guessed that the Order was busy with Death Eaters in Little Whinging... Which reminded him, what had happened to the Dursleys?

He recognised the feel of Dumbledore's muffling charm in the entrance hall, then the stairs to the first floor. Up, up, they went and Harry realised that the 'Master Bedroom' must refer to the room Sirius had used. He didn't know what to make of that. Perhaps... perhaps it would be nice to have something of Sirius'. If he could get over the way it would remind him constantly of his Godfather. Maybe it would remind him, not of his death, but of his life. That would be... well, if not nice, at least bitter-sweet. Such thoughts would be dangerous normally, but in this weird state, apparently Occlumency, he could manage.

Snape surprised him again with the gentility with which he was handled. Mrs Weasley must have pulled the bed covers back for him and he was laid very softly on the mattress with head and shoulders on the pillow. The sheets were cold, even through his clothes, and his body began shivering again quite involuntarily. The covers were drawn up to his chest as Snape checked his pulse again, but they didn't really help. Maybe he wasn't generating enough warmth? Snape had said that his temperature was low... in any case; the warming charm Snape cast over him was very welcome indeed.

_"Foolish, idiotic boy..."_ Harry wouldn't have argued with the mutter, even if he was able.


	3. Chapter 3: Being Free

_AN:You almost got a half-length chapter today, because the cutting worked that way, but I decided that the second half didn't fit well at the beginning of the next chapter either._

_In any case, here you have it. _

_Next Chapter: Friday 13th._

* * *

Chapter Three: Being Freed.

_"Ward the door once you leave, password Hornbeam." _That was a little curious, Harry knew it was a wand wood, but he'd have expected potions ingredients. Perhaps it had a potions use too? Perhaps he was just being narrow minded. He heard the door close and knew Mrs Weasley was gone. He felt wards go up and soon enough, the Owl-Eye charm was back, along with that piercing black gaze.

_"Legilimens." _

And the headache folded in on itself and intensified.

That sensation of being host to another's mind was strange, closed, different to when Snape had only been after his memories. Snape's magic pierced the storm easily, almost cutting it away, much to Harry's chagrin, and hovered solidly nearby. The storm barely touched him, memories parting around him like water. Given the man's unsuccessful attempts earlier, it was clear that he was doing something quite different this time. The man was cocooned safely in his own magic and the things that_ did_ touch him did not appear to cause him harm.

"Mr Potter, bring me to you. Reach out." Again, the words were in stereo, both heard and perceived. Harry was a little reluctant, with Snape so close, accidental magic could be ... bad, but there was little to be done. As quickly as he could, to minimize the size of the hole in the snow, Harry reached out and drew the mind into his snowy cocoon. His magic was warm, so warm that Harry worried that he would melt away the snow, and velveteen; soft and subtle and comfortable. He wondered what his magic felt like to the Professor but asking felt... intrusive and having the man in his mind was enough of that for one day.

'Good.' Snape's lips didn't move that time, but Harry felt the words, crystal clear. 'Now hold on tight with your mind, but leave your magic behind.' Harry whimpered, without his magic he would _see _and_ feel_ all of the stuff he couldn't handle, he'd be destroyed.

'Calm, now Mr Po... Harry. I will not force you to flashback, I will protect you.' His voice was that deep tone again and rang with truth. The construct shuddered and a cold wind that had been blowing for five years ceased abruptly. The contradictory combination of trust, fear and doubt that he'd felt around Snape vanished, and the painful memories of him lost their bite and settled down.

'Yes, sir.' He concentrated on that trust and it cleaved him tightly to the Professor's mind. When curiosity about the strange nature of this touching of minds intruded, his connection loosened slightly and he concentrated solely on the Potion Master's habit of saving his life, on his trust.

There was a pulling sensation and he was shrouded in that thick, dark magic. There was a brief moment of fear when he realised that the snow was gone as he caught a glimpse of the storm; Cedric falling with a blank face... before the velvet closed over him tightly and drew him away.

His eyes slid closed as soon as he had control of his body again, the Owl-Eye charm broken by the rush of powerful Legilimency, and he sighed heavily. He pushed the thoughts that made up the storm down, once he was free of them, by concentrating on the warm palm on his forehead and the warm fingers at his throat. He wisely remained silent until his pulse had been taken and the hands withdrew;

"You are fortunate I know your mind, Potter... that was an extremely foolish thing to do."

"-" He croaked, coughed and tried again. "I know, sir, but there was something I needed to do." He opened his eyes a crack, Snape was sitting on the edge of the bed, wand dangling from one hand and fingers rubbing at his temple. "It was worse in there, earlier."

Snape looked up, looking as bad as Harry felt, "I dread to imagine. How can you live with su-" he fell silent, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

"Yeah... let's not mention that; I don't see it as an option." He let his eyes close and slumped deeper into the pillow. The silence stretched a little, before Snape spoke again.

"You... trust me. Fully. Why?" His voice was harsh and biting like it was in the potions classroom and Harry couldn't help the tiny flinch it evoked. "You know I bear the Mark..." He could feel Snape _looking_ at him like a curious insect under a microscope;

"You've saved me, a bunch of times," He said simply and quietly, hoping that it rang with the same truth that Snape's promise of protection had earlier. Snape grunted and Harry felt the bed shift slightly.

"Half the Order owe their lives to me, it does not stop them thinking me untrustworthy; it is not an opinion I discourage." He said, sounding almost irritated under that porcelain veneer of contempt.

"You're too good at what you do, 's your own fault." Harry said, unthinkingly and with a faint hint of amusement, before trying not to cringe at his informality and blatantly rude words.

"So it would seem, Mr Potter." Replied Snape in a soft voice. "So it would seem." Harry was silent, his mind turning over this information and confirming his suspicion that Severus Snape was playing the 'Dark Lord' Mouldy Shorts; attending meetings and double crossing the most dangerous man-thing in Britain. He sighed as worry for the man's safety settled over him heavily.

"It is effective, at least, as a barrier..." Snape commented, rubbing his temple again, drawing the subject back to Harry's strange Occlumency. "The Dark Lord would be unable to navigate such emotion; it would be like a maze with no map, or a code to which he does not have the key."

Harry welcomed the change of subject, since he didn't believe Snape would appreciate his worry, and quirked a smile at the thought; "Stops the nightmares for a while too, with me hidden like that." He could feel Snape's curiosity at that one, "I usually just go to sleep like that... once I wake up, I'm back to... well, closer to normal." Talking grated on his headache and he thought about asking for a headache potion,

"That is understandable; dream-sleep is a vastly different mind state, one which an occluded mind can enter into, eventually. Inversely, it takes great training to retain or instinctively reapply shields on re-entering normal sleep." Snape looked tired, Harry thought. How much magic did it take to shield another mind, from itself?

"Good to know. That'd be why the visions come there, then. I'm vulnerable?" He had his eyes closed but jerked them open when he felt the bed shift abruptly.

"They come during dreaming sleep? You are utterly sure of that?" Harry tried not to look too incredulous at the Potion Master's sharp tone.

"Yes, of course! I called them _nightmares_, for months!" the Potion Master slumped, banishing his wand up his sleeve and pressing his palms over his eyes.

"My apologies, Harry. I didn't know..." Harry was just confused, an _apology_?

"I don't understand; why is that significant?" He blinked his eyes open properly and nudged his glasses up his nose, struggling to sit up a little.

"Because the mind is, should be, safe during dreaming. You cannot Legilimise a dreaming wizard." He glanced at Harry again, "Those visions were not the Dark Lord's doing. Think, Harry, were you dreaming during your History OWL?"

Harry gaped for a moment, like a fish. He had thought for months that he was under constant attack by Voldemort, through his _dreams_, an attack designed to convince him of the veracity of the visions, but now...

"No, no, I had only just fallen asleep; I usually have at least an hour before I start screaming." Oops, he hadn't meant to say that, at all. The piercing look he got for it was evaluating and almost respectful. "So it wasn't a normal vision? Well, apart from the 'it was made up' bit."

"Indeed. We can safely assume that that is the difference between an actual vision and a plant." Snape seemed to gather himself, after that, and tugged his sleeves over his hands as he stood. "I must speak to Dumbledore..." He hesitated, before rapping his next sentence out harshly; "Do I have your permission to share what I have learned of you?" It was like he was embarrassed or something, about asking. Harry felt honoured that he had asked _at all_,

"Yeah, sure..." Harry looked away, at the room for the first time, though he wasn't really looking at _it_, just not at Snape.

"I... I am aware of your... disappointment in his behaviour; know that now you are... protected, in a sense, it need not continue." Harry looked back, eyes sharp.

"He thought- what...? I was possessed? All _year?_" He spat.

Snape looked surprisingly uncomfortable, for a man showing no outward facial expression and faced with a sick fifteen year old. "I believe he wished to spare you that experience, by keeping his distance. To ...remove the temptation on the Dark Lord's part."

Harry was unimpressed by that, "I realize that I am only fifteen, but I am not a child. _I could have handled a note!"_ He didn't shout, but the emphasis was still strong, and tiring. He lost what sitting up he had managed and lent heavily on the pillows.

"Indeed. I believe it would have aided our lessons, also." And what a failure they had been. Being told, 'Oh, you might get possessed by Mouldy Voldie and A.K us all!' would have been one hell of a motivator! Harry grunted and let his eyes close.

"Yeah. Fat lot of good they were." He practically felt Snape stiffen, Harry was almost glad; it was weird to be in the same room without a near constant barrage of witty sarcasm and insults. All the same, he wasn't done; "They made the visions worse." That fell into the air like a lead balloon, Snape sounded like he'd frozen; no sound of breathing or movement. "From what you said earlier, that's probably because they made the nightmares... more."

When he eventually responded, it sounded like he was pushing a boulder up a hill; "Perhaps my methods were a little harsh..." he ground out.

"No, they would have been ideal, if I'd_ wanted_ the visions to go away." Harry quirked the corner of his mouth up; "I'd have learnt like a shot, then, like the Patronus charm..."

"Nonetheless..." Harry was pretty sure Snape was gritting his teeth; it'd explain the strange creaking sound.

"In all seriousness, if you apologise twice in one day, I think the universe might go into shock." The creaking noise stopped, but Harry didn't feel like exposing his headache to light so he missed the smirk on his teachers face. Harry sobered a bit, after that;

"Professor... is it true? That your home isn't safe anymore?" He asked cautiously, aware that this may be a line he would regret crossing. Snape's silence stretched on a little and Harry kept his eyes shut to avoid the indignant sneer Snape could be sporting, as well as the mid-afternoon light.

"Yes. The wards are open to many of the Dark Lord's servants." He sneered with obvious disgust, "However, I am more than capable of ensuring my own safety."

Harry swallowed and tangled his fingers in the coverlet, "Even when you've been tortured for an 'unfavourable' report? I've seen Death Eater meetings, Professor, it is not..." He trailed off, unwilling to continue given the harsh breaths Snape was attempting to suppress.

"Does that _please_ you, _Potter_?" the man snarled, twin creaks on either side of Harry's head and a distinct looming sensation told him that Snape was leaning over him, face twisted in what he was sure would be a familiar expression, "Yes, I will be tortured, my home potentially raided by _mein komrade_!" he spat, agitated puffs of air brushing over Harry's face. The reference to the Nazi's wasn't lost on Harry and the weight on his chest increased;

"You know it doesn't, Snape. You've seen bits and pieces of my entire life, of what makes me who I am..." Harry's voice trembled faintly, "Please, come back here after, please. I can't stand... no one else should..." He tumbled to a stop, unable to articulate. Finally, he risked opening his eyes and found Snape's face close to his own where he loomed over him, but the threat Harry was sure had been there a moment before was gone, leaving the Professor looking like a wounded predator. "Please, sir, just... be _safe_."

Snape spent a long moment staring into Harry's eyes and, though he felt no touch of Legilimency, Harry felt like Snape was looking right through him. Then, after a long, drawn out moment, Snape straightened, lifting his hands of the headboard and standing by the bed with his piercing eyes still on Harry. He gave a curt nod and Harry _smiled_, truly smiled. He let his light-sensitive eyes close again and relaxed into the mattress, releasing tension he hadn't known he had.

"You must rest, Potter, and I must report this... incident."

"Yes... before you get Called." Harry said with a shudder.

"Hornbeam." Harry was pulled out of his horrified thoughts, momentarily puzzled until he felt the wards come down. "Eat, Mr Potter. You are even thinner than last September."

Harry snorted, between scaring the pants off his relatives and fending off bouts of accidental-magic induced grief, he'd not really thought about it. "Yes Sir. Come back safe."

The hissing of robes around a doorframe was the only indication that the man had left. Harry never had thought of him as one to say "bye" and _certainly_ not "see you later". Maybe a nod as he left the room, Harry mused. He could hear, faintly, Mrs Weasley and Snape talking down the hall, from the sound of her voice, Snape had given her permission to feed him up. He wasn't going to object to that!

The warming charm Snape had cast was still in effect and Harry was almost completely replete, except for the standard Legilimency headache. The warmth and the man's magic were very welcome.

But that was not necessarily a good thing, he didn't want to sleep at least until Snape had returned. As weak as he was, he didn't think he could take a vision like that and he was reluctant to occlude again so soon. When Mrs Weasley bustled in, he could hear where the word came from, her robes, or was it a dress? He hadn't noticed, and her apron swished together.

"Harry, dear?" She sounded worried, it made Harry's chest tighten a little.

"I'm ok, Mrs Weasley. Just feeling incredibly foolish." He blinked one eye open cautiously, relieved to find that his headache had subsided from the 'Argh, it burns' to the 'Ouch, light' stage. "Bit of a headache though. Hungry." It was like saying a spell, her face lit up with motherly conviction.

"Now, now, don't say that! Here, Severus left you this. Minerva was mighty impressed with some ice transfiguration you did, don't you go putting yourself down." Nice to know, Harry thought as he fumbled for the headache potion she handed him. Once the cork was out and the spellseal broken, he downed the whole damn thing, foul taste and all.

Mrs Weasley was fussing with his bedclothes, pulling the duvet straight and recasting the warming charm. He almost regretted losing the feel of Snape's magic, but the cocooning warmth of Mrs Weasley's was nice too, motherly. He wondered how many time's she'd cast that charm on her kids; that was warming all by itself.

"Dobby!" She called, surprising him a little. The crack was immediate; the little elf must have been waiting for the call. Harry cracked his eyes open again, glad that the potion had begun to work, to greet his littlest friend.

"Hey Dobby, nice hat." Harry grinned as the tennis-ball green eyes brimmed with tears.

"Dobby is liking very much his colour-changing wool! He is knitting himself a hat with Master Harry Potter's Christmas present! Master Harry is a good Wizard!" Harry grinned and glanced up at Mrs Weasley, who smiled back; she'd added an old pair of her smallest knitting needles to the package.

"Looks like you did a good job." Harry remarked croakily as the free elf threw himself on the bed and hugged Harry around the middle. He patted him gently on the back, righting the hat, (currently orange, shifting to mauve.) After a quick sniffle, the elf picked himself up and, sitting on the edge of the bed like Harry had ordered him to the first time they met, looked at Mrs Weasley,

"There is something Mistress Mrs Weasley is needing?" He chirped, looking very cheerful. Harry decided he rather liked 'Mistress Mrs Weasley', it sounded like something out of an old children's program.

"Some chicken soup and a plate of my scones for Harry, please." The elf nodded with a big smile before looking to Harry for any additional orders.

"Something to drink would be great, too." He added, getting _another_ smile for his trouble, and Dobby popped off with a quiet crack that was almost musical.

"Such an excellent elf! He reminds me of the one we had as a child, wonderful old girl." She smiled, seeming unable to resist smoothing Harry's un-smooth-able hair. "How's your headache, dear?"

He paused and looked out the window at the bright, if grey, sky. "Not even a twinge, Mrs Weasley, thank you for the potion."

She scrutinised him for a long minute, then conceded; "Thank Severus for the potion, when he gets back. He left you a dose of Dreamless Sleep too, for after you've eaten." Harry gave a relieved sigh, letting his eyes close.

"He's a good man." He mumbled, full of gratitude.

"And don't you forget it! I hear all about him from Ron, imagine! Thinking _Severus Snape_ would steal the Philosophers Stone! Preposterous..." She trailed off, bustling again. He gave a soft smile; maybe Snape was a bit pessimistic, it sounded like _one _someone trusted him, at least. Harry heard the distinctive creak of his trunk opening and realised he'd lost track of it during the skirmish. He was _very_ glad it'd been brought with them; especially since he'd heard say that Number Four was on fire. He briefly wondered what the Order had done with the Dursleys, and then decided he'd rather not know.

"Oh Harry, would look at this..." He obliged, seeing Mrs Weasley with a sheaf of parchments, flipping through them, "You've worked so hard! Ah, here's the transfiguration you used..." Harry lay back again, smiling sadly.

"DADA, for the sake of my friends. Transfiguration, in memory of my Dad. Charms, for Mum. And Potions, for Snape, to make up for the respect he deserved but I didn't give."

He could hear her shuffling through the stacks as he lay quietly, she even sniffed a little. "That's very mature of you, Harry, very sensible." He heard the 'Tap! Tap!' of paper edges on a table and saw her putting his papers and books away in a desk against the opposite wall. That prompted his first look around his new room; he'd never been in here when it was Sirius'. Harry wasn't sure _Sirius_'d been in here when it was Sirius'; he'd seemed to spend a lot of time with Buckbeak and on various library sofas. To his surprise, thinking about Sirius didn't have the same, raw-edged-wound feel as it had that morning, sadness, yes, but the guilt and anger were not as strong, or perhaps better hidden. He couldn't tell. Maybe it was being here, where there were good memories of his Godfather to balance out that horrific final one...

The room was large, as befitting the Master bedroom, with thick forest green rugs over a polished wooden floor. The double bed and furniture was made of a similar, dark hardwood. While it was a four-poster, Harry doubted the curtains had been used in a while; made in dark green brocade, they were drawn right back and tied with gold and green ropes to the posts. Harry couldn't tell whether the mattress was actually as comfortable as it felt, or whether he was just that tired, but it felt _amazing_, all the same. Snape had put him in the left side of the bed, nearest the door, against a big pile of (shockingly) green and cream pillows and to his left there was a little chest of drawers as a bedside table. The vial of Dreamless Sleep sat temptingly in reach on top. There was no lamp, but a glance at the headboard as he struggled to sit up against the pillows showed a wand-shelf, where Harry could keep his wand without risking it falling down the back of the bed, (it happened occasionally, especially in a dorm full of boys, when it is _especially embarrassing._) Harry recognised it thanks to its resemblance to the one's in the showers.

The room was wallpapered, again in shades of green shot with a dark yellow and gold. Harry couldn't really see the pattern, he needed new glasses again, but it was warm-feeling, like the Trio's tree by the lake, with its spring leaves.

There is only so much room-appreciation one teenage boy can do, however old his soul might have been, so he moved on to more important matters. Mrs Weasley had most of his books on the shelves next to the desk by then and all his notes in neat piles;

"Did... um, did I inherit the house, then?" He asked; his voice catching. Mrs Weasley paused in her shuffling before regaining her energy.

"Yes, Sirius was very clear that it should go to his Godson, even before you were born. He left his personal vault with Remus, but the Black fortunes where merged into the Potter vaults the moment he died." Harry spotted his well-thumbed Defence text books going up, apparently in year order. "His _cousins"_ she spat as she pushed the books home with a little more force than necessary, "won't get anything. ...Kreacher is also yours."

"Harry Potter, sir, is not be needing nasty old house elf! Not until he is _nice_ old house elf!" Said Dobby, king of the timely entrance. He had a tray balanced on his magnificent hat, supported by hands and, no doubt, some magic.

The little elf's arrival neatly defused Harry's anger; Kreacher had been a major player in the events leading up to the battle at the Department of Mysteries, and hence his Godfathers death. "Why did he lie to me, Dobby?" He asked softly as Mrs Weasley took the tray and levitated it above Harry's legs. Dobby's eyes grew huge and wet with tears again.

"Because the good Master Black was not a good Master to old Kreacher." The elf came right up to the side of the bed and rested his fingers on the coverlet; the top of the mattress easily reached his chest. "He is not giving Kreacher work to do, he is throwing away Kreacher's Heirlooms, that he is sworn to protect!"

Harry had known since the pensive incident and perhaps even from before, that Sirius was not the perfect father figure he had imagined and hoped him to be, but it still hurt to hear such things said;

"Kreacher is not _like_ Dobby, sir, he is needing work, orders, people's to look after. He cannot, _cannot_, make himself clothes and sockses and... and he does _not_ want to be free. He is too olds, has seen too many winters." Dobby looked so very, very sad that Harry had to blink himself, and Mrs Weasley had turned away to blow her nose. "Master Black was a very good man, a good Godfather. He gave Dobby Buckbeak feathers. But Kreacher does not want a good _man_, Kreacher wantses a good _Master_."

Harry sat, a little stunned, and feeling more wrung out than ever. "T-th-" He had to stop and clear his throat, "Thank you, Dobby. I will try and be a good Master, maybe then Kreacher can be my 'nice old house elf'." Dobby nodded vigorously, tears flinging off the end of his nose and splatting on the carpet, before hopping up on the bed to give Harry a hug.

"Dobby will help, Master Harry. So's Dobby will have help looking after Master Harry's House." Harry smiled weakly and patted Dobby on his thin shoulder; it was rather a small target.

"Thanks," he stared thoughtfully into the middle distance for a moment, until Mrs Weasley couldn't stand it anymore and prompted him to eat. As he did so, (Dobby's chicken soup was fantastic, and Harry could see steam still rising from the scones) Dobby and Mrs Weasley fussed around his room, putting things away. Harry had never really unpacked his trunk before, there had never been room or reason at either the school or the Burrow and once he'd arrived at Grimmauld before fifth year, he'd been stuck in the habit. As a result, the bottom of his trunk hadn't seen the light of day for some time, much to Mrs Weasley's disapproval. Old quills, ink dust, sweet wrappers and loose Bertie Bott's formed a thin but suitably disgusting layer that both she and Dobby were most unimpressed by.

As he slowly worked his way through the soup and his glass of pumpkin juice, he watched the room go from _the_ room to _his_ room. All his clothes were vetted by Dobby, cleaned and repaired as necessary. Fortunately, Mrs Weasley didn't interfere; Harry didn't want Ron's mum anywhere _near_ his underwear. Things were put away in drawers; he'd ever had things in _drawers_ before. His Sneak-o-scope, omnioculars and miniature Hungarian Horntail went on a small shelf above the desk. His animated Victor Krum went walkabouts and fell off the desk, then began making grumpy rounds around the chair leg until he was picked up.

There was a touch and go moment when his Firebolt made an appearance, he wasn't sure if he could manage to restrain himself. Mrs Weasley propped it up in the corner before coming over. Harry swore she had a mystical sense about things like that; he didn't cry in the end but it was a close thing when she pulled him into a hug. Dobby cleared away his dinner once it was clear Harry wasn't able to eat anymore, not saying anything, but patting his hand on his way past.

Harry had lost track of time, somewhere along the line, but he thought it might be late evening by the time Mrs Weasley felt he could be left on his own. She fussed and fiddled, making sure things were put away until finally Mr Weasley fetched her with a simple 'When's dinner?'

Harry relaxed back into the pillows once she was gone and heaved a sigh. He was still reluctant to sleep, even with the bottle of Dreamless available. He wanted to know that Snape got back safely.


	4. Chapter 4: A Quiet Sort of Grief

_AN: No notes for this one. I've got the formatting down, we're all good this time._

* * *

Chapter Four:A Quiet sort of Grief.

"Dobby, I'm going to talk to Kreacher... any last advice?" He said, still looking out the window. He caught a flapping sound and looked back at Dobby with a grin; the elf's ears were flapping as he shook his head. "Right. Thanks Dobby, keep an eye out for Snape, would you? I'd like to know when he gets back."

"Dobby will listen to the wards, sir, while sir is too tired." He said, looking very, comically almost, serious, before popping out, presumably to attend whatever duties Dumbledore had offered him.

Harry shuffled and wriggled and punched his pillows until he thought he looked vaguely in control of his body. He was so, utterly, bone achingly tired; it had been a long day in a series of long days and little sleep.

"Kreacher!" He tried to get that commanding sound that Snape managed, hoping it would help him get off on the right foot. The elf's 'pop' was messier, and louder, than Dobby's but still prompt.

"Master mudblood Harry Potter sir calls Kreacher. Does he have work for Kreacher? Should Kreacher iron his toes for letting Master Sirius throw away Master Mudblood's inheritance? Mistress would not be pleased, oh no..."

Harry listened carefully this time, skipping over the insults and threats of self harm to try and work out how to go about this. The elf was still hung up on his previous masters, mistresses, whatever, that probably needed sorting. His request for work was sneered but it was the one line that Kreacher looked at Harry to deliver, so it probably was as important as Dobby had implied... He cleared his throat.

"Kreacher, I am your Master now, the orders of previous Masters, and Mistresses," He added, just in case Kreacher decided Walburga Black wasn't included in 'Masters'. "Are to be disregarded completely. You will have a new set." Harry waited for the shocked look on the elf's face to settle for a moment before continuing, fingers crossed where Kreacher couldn't see them.

"Your orders are as follows, in order of priority; you are to present yourself in a manner fitting of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, clean, fed and neat, at all times, particularly in the company of a witch or wizard. You are not to contact or be seen by anyone who does not know the location of this House." Harry stressed the house deliberately, hoping to invoke some of the pride he may or may not have had in serving the ancestral Home of Black, while using the Fidelus to limit his outside contact. He took a deep breath before continuing, being so forceful used a lot of air.

"You are to clean and make safe the rooms of this House, in as swift a manner as you are able, without getting sick." He was trying to keep as many loopholes closed as he could, not easy when you're thinking on your feet and trying to prevent a mad old elf from hurting himself. "Any cursed, hexed, jinxed or otherwise malignant magical items that could cause harm to the Master or his guests," Wow, now he was speaking in the Royal Third, never a good sign, "Are to be cleaned and made safe, if possible, and stored in the attic. Once the initial cleaning is complete, you will evaluate these items and bring any in need of further repair or curse breaking to me, in a sealed box. I will require explanation of any curse removals or repairs you are unable perform yourself before handing it on to professionals."

Harry mentally crossed his fingers and toes before starting his final order, it could well be a deal breaker;

"In cleaning the House you are not to speak to the portraits. I am appalled by the dust and fading I have seen, so its clear you've spent too much time talking, when your duty has been their care, not their entertainment."

He let that lot sink in, for a moment; with that, he hoped that the cantankerous old witch couldn't poison the elf further, but it could be decidedly upsetting so...

He'd had a vague idea about what he was going to say, particularly about the Heirloom-time-bombs all over the House but he looked back over what he had actually said, just in case he had missed something obvious.

"Do you understand, Kreacher? I order you to ask for any clarification you require, now and in the future." He watched the little elf wring his hands for a moment, then tug on his ears, before his question tumbled out.

"Kreacher understands, but not all mean thingsies are Kreachers to 'make safe'! The Master Prince Potions Master carries poisons, many, nasties, stinkies and killers. But they are his, not of the House! Kreacher cannot 'make safe'!" the elf whined, pulling on his ears again.

Prince? Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; he was too tired for this. How to word it...

"Items belonging to guests are to be left alone, with the exception of laundry left out. Dangerous or questionable items should be monitored; if there is a risk to the health of a Guest, report it to me. Potions ingredients are permitted, despite their occasionally dangerous nature." I feel like a lawyer.

Harry noticed a big oversight then, and shook himself slightly;

"Orders from members of the Order of the Phoenix are to be obeyed, within reason, if they don't countermand a direct order from me, then they take priority over standing duties. In addition, you are to Obey orders from Headmaster Dumbledore," Again, heavy emphasis on Obey, "As if they are from myself. Orders from Headmaster Dumbledore that countermand my own are to be obeyed until such a time as you can consult me for clarification."

Harry felt safe dropping the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black act then; if that hadn't established his authority, nothing would. The poor little elf looked thoroughly shocked, but not unhappy. Fingers crossed. Harry slumped back into his pillows again, would this day never end?

"Dismissed, go get cleaned up." He croaked tiredly. Harry thought that Kreacher's pop was a little cleaner this time, was it an indicator of House elf sanity? He sighed, he'd find out soon enough.

He rolled onto his side, punching his pillows into a more comfortable shape, and stared out the window. The sun was just about down; only the occasional cloud had a lick of sunlight on it. His window must face east, he thought. Had Sirius liked the sunrise? That one had snuck up on him; he choked for a second before letting out a quiet sniffle and rubbing his eyes dry on his sleeve. Maybe he could ask Remus.

Carefully, gently, he let himself think about his Godfather. He managed not to think about how or why he had died, so staving off the guilt, but it gave him a chance to grieve, at least. It was tiring, but at least he was still awake. He even smiled, albeit rather sadly, when he remembered Sirius' antics as Padfoot.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*

He didn't know how much later it was when Dobby popped back into the room but the sky was orange-black with streetlights and had been for a while.

"Professor Master Potions Master has returned, Mr. Harry Potter sir." Dobby's naming habits never failed to amuse, Harry thought as he sighed out a long breath in relief.

"Thanks, Dobby. Is he alright?" He asked, rolling over onto his other side, facing the door and hence, Dobby.

"Severus Snape is stubborn, Harry Potter sir! He is not letting Dobby help him into bed!" That sent a jolt though Harry,

"I bet he isn't. How injured is he?" He asked sitting up and swinging his legs out from under the covers.

"Severus Snape says he is not injured at all, but Dobby is seeing the shaking and is knowing that Severus Snape has felt great pain!" Harry quirked a sardonic grin, at least he'd know when Dobby was annoyed with him, he wondered if his middle name would get thrown in there too.

"Cruciatus then. Pass me a robe, would you?" the irate house elf snapped his fingers and a black school robe flew out of the wardrobe and hung in mid air for Harry to pull on over his rumpled clothes. The bed post proved a great help in getting his balance, he'd been lying down all afternoon after all. "Do you know your way around his Potions stocks?" He asked the muttering elf as the robe helped him on with itself.

"Dobby is knowing exactly the potion Severus Snape should be taking but no, Severus Snape is a stubborn Potions Master!" Harry sighed again, as he shuffled out of his room, realising as his socked feet hit the wooden bits of floor that someone had taken his shoes off for him. He couldn't decide if it was nice or embarrassing. "Right, show me the way." He just hoped it wasn't down stairs. "Longest day... ever... bloody hell." He added his own mutterings to the spurned house elf's'.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX

As it happened, Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor, was housed just down the hall. The man's door was open, but Harry knocked anyway. The voice that emerged was not entirely what he was expecting; Severus Snape, yes, hoarse and exhausted sounding? No. Swearing, certainly not;

"Sod off you malingering old Coot! You have my report; now go on your sickeningly merry way!"

Wow, Harry could see why Dobby's feathers were ruffled, though he imagined that the Headmaster had taken it in his stride.

"I appreciate being considered an adult, but old is taking it a little far, Professor." He maintained an expression of light humour for as long as he could as he poked his head around the half-open door. He wasn't used to concealing his emotions though and a frown crept in when he saw his Professor sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed. The room was very similar to the Master's bedroom, wooden floors, lots of rugs, and so on, but done in darker greens and some tree-bark browns and dark greys. The potion master obviously hadn't allowed as much fussing as Harry had; his trunks and boxes remained mostly packed and the room devoid of personal artefacts, apart from the mask, of course. It was carelessly tossed on the chest of drawers, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Harry shuddered briefly; in all his visions, it wasn't the muggles or blood traitors or mudbloods who suffered the most; they just died, but the Death Eaters had to come back. Their expressions were locked away behind those masks so that only the screams escaped. Time and time again he had witnessed curses flying, not at victims but at comrades, if Death Eaters even had such a thing.

His comment earned him a very hard glare. "Get out, Potter." He spat, struggling to stand, or at least make it to the bed.

"Can't do that, sir. Dobby said you wouldn't take the post-Cruciatus potion." He said, approaching his Professor warily. "Just let me help, sir."

More glaring, "That potion will knock me out for fourteen hours; I need to brew." Harry, not quite ignoring the man, just not letting it stop him from helping, pulled Snape's arm over his shoulder and hauled the man most of the way to his feet. He wasn't tall enough to get him the rest of the way but it was enough to get him onto the bed. They were both panting after that but somehow, Snape managed to keep talking. "Your precious Order members could die, simply because I took that potion!"

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn't an unreasonable argument, Harry knew that Snape provided all the Infirmaries potions, but at the same time, he doubted that Snape would be able to brew anyway, not with tremors like that. "Fine. Dobby!" The elf stepped forwards, into Snape's room from the hallway.

"Go to the floo, look for a note from the Hogwarts Infirmary to Severus Snape, if you find one, bring it straight up." He joined Snape as the elf popped away, sitting on the edge of his bed, too tired to care about the glare. It was much weakened by the man's tremors, anyway.

"Look, Professor, if Madam Pomfrey hasn't got any requests, will you take the potion? You and I both know that Voldemort isn't going to attack anywhere in a while. Not after losing so spectacularly."

There was a heavily aggravated sigh from Snape; "That would be... unlikely, true." He still sounded non-committal, at best.

"Look, sir, you rushed off after the Triwizard tournament but I know you brewed that potion for me, the next day. I was hit twice, I'm pretty sure you've had more than that this evening and I know how bad I felt; please take the potion." The quiet was slightly unnerving so he glanced at the Professor briefly; he was being stared at, intensely. "I won't be able to sleep until you do."

"Brat. Your hero complex will destroy you, eventually, I guarantee it." He was scathing, but Harry detected a touch of bemusement and incredulity.

"Dobby has a note from a Poppy to Severus Snape, Master Harry Potter, sir." Dobby reappeared, hovering nervously in the doorway. Had Snape banned him from entering his room without permission while he was 'being stubborn'? The note was still warm from being near the fire. He unrolled it quickly and read it aloud;

"SS,

Severe cases transferred to St M's, remaining patients stable. Top up's for Heal-All, Sleeping Solution and Curse Breaker Draught needed before September. No urgent requests.

Thanks for the Dragon's Breath, came in handy. Look after yourself.

PP."

Snape was semi-slumped against the pillows by that point, black fabric pooling around him. Harry just looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh very well!" he snapped eventually, scowling, "Dobby, fetch me the potion labelled 'C46.B', a pain reliever; level three, and a Heal-All. Go!"

Harry didn't think the man would appreciate his presence for much longer, though he did have a moment of worry when he remembered just how many buttons Snape's robes had. His help wouldn't be asked for or appreciated though, so he pushed himself back to his feet and started for the door.

"Good night, Professor." Harry said as he stepped out,

"You too, elf, be gone." Snape's acerbic tone followed him out into the corridor, along with the sound of potion's vials being jostled. Dobby closed the door behind them and trotted to Harry's side.

"Master Potion's Master is being a good wizard, sir, just... stubborn." He commented, looking, if anything, a little smug.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Harry said, frowning slightly. Seeing someone so seemingly indomitable with tremors and muscle weakness shattered the illusion Snape liked to hold tight around himself. "Would you make sure there's a cup of tea waiting for him when he wakes up? He should come 'round at around eleven tomorrow morning." Maybe that would ease the man's foul mood a little. Dobby's ears flapped loudly, the house was really quiet, Harry noticed, as he nodded. Harry wondered who was living there, apart from himself and the Potions Master, or was it just being used as a HQ, for meetings and deployment? He'd try and find out in the morning.

"Dobby will, sir. Now, Harry Potter is to be taking his potion and sleeping!" Dobby looked up at him sternly and wagged a finger at him, even as he opened the bedroom door.

"Right, won't see me arguing." He couldn't have been more glad to see his bed. He was still exhausted, even after resting all evening. He supposed staying awake to avoid cripplingly painful visions wasn't all that restful after all.

"Mr Harry Potter is needing some pyjamas! Or does he sleep naked?" Harry, midway through getting out of his robes groaned and dropped his head into his hand. Elves.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX

Eventually, Dobby was reassured that, yes, Harry needed some pyjamas and, yes, Dobby could take his measurements to Madam Malkin's in the morning but that Harry would be just fine in a soft t-shirt and some sweatpants, just for one night.

Harry climbed into bed on the side nearest the window, not bothering to close the drapes as he watched Dobby draw the curtains over the orange-lit London sky.

Dobby was buzzing with excitement about his mission into Diagon Alley, as Harry was drifting off under Dreamless Sleep, he could have sworn he heard Dobby say "He will make a list, Dobby will. Yes, yes. Trousers, shirts, sockses, pie-jamas, trainings; Master did get blood all over them! Robes..."

Harry slept with a faint smile on his face right through 'til morning.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX

He woke up at about nine, after a solid twelve hours. His snitch clock, which Dobby had put on the right-hand-side bedside table, informed him that it was Time for Breakfast. At the Dursleys, he'd been getting up later, since he usually worked himself into exhaustion at two or three in the morning leaving him to sleep restlessly through until around eleven. However, he'd had an early night the night before and despite yesterday being officially the Longest Day Ever, twelve hours was all Dreamless sleep could give him. He supposed he should get used to getting up at a more normal time now, anyway, since there would be Order members around, and in preparation for the eight o'clock starts back at school in a months' time.

Thinking of which...

"Date, please." He croaked at the clock, which 'blinked' a golden eyelid and changed from a clock face to a date, specifically the 26th of July. It would be Dobby's birthday tomorrow, he mused. With that, he hauled himself upright and padded over to the bathroom, wondering what he could conspire with Mrs Weasley, to get him.

It was definitely good to have his own shower, he thought as he let the steam build up before getting in. He'd loved hot showers the minute he'd had one in first year and had never really had the opportunity to indulge regularly. The two Dorm showers were shared between five teenage boys, god forbid he take more than ten minutes, and Quidditch showers were pretty rushed since practices were squeezed in around lessons and curfew.

He tipped his head into the spray with a happy sigh; he should make time for this, seriously. Eventually, he started soaping up, using a large block of cinnamon soap that Uncle Vernon had got for Christmas once but never touched; hiding it in the back of the cabinet instead. Harry figured it was fair game, since he'd probably never remember its existence. He managed to get it up his nose while he was soaping his hair and sneezed violently, sending himself into fits of chuckles as he finished rinsing off.

When he emerged, he discovered that Dobby had been busy again; his best/least worn jeans, a "Weasley is our King!" t-shirt and his best fitting Weasley jumper were laid out on the bed next to neatly folded underwear and a pair of socks. He dressed quickly, in case Mrs Weasley decided to come up and restrict him to his bed, and then went downstairs to find some food.

He smelled breakfast before he reached the kitchen; bacon, eggs and something sweet that he hoped was pancakes. He shuffled down the last few steps and entered the kitchen, grinning;

"Good morning Dobby!" He greeted the busy little elf, peering over his head to look in the frying pan; bacon, mushrooms, smelling fantastic, and a bowl of eggs ready to be cracked into the oil.

"Good Morning Mr. Harry Potter, sir. Pancakes is on the tables." He said, pointing a finger at the bacon to make it flip over.

"Thanks, it smells brilliant." He retreated to the table where a place was set at the head. Pancakes there were, but there was also strawberries, sugar and lemon juice, butter, syrup and jam. He sat down without further ado, though he did wonder briefly how Dobby knew what he liked on his pancakes, and set to making a pile of strawberries, sprinkled with white sugar, down the middle of one, then rolling it up and dribbling a bit of lemon juice on top. There was a satisfied noise from the hob and the sound of eggs being broken.

Harry was surprised at how hungry he was, given how little he'd eaten over the holidays so far. Maybe Dobby's chicken soup the night before really did have magical qualities, it had certainly tasted amazing. He polished off four pancakes and half the bowl of strawberries before turning to the cooked breakfast Dobby had put beside him.

"Oh, have you seen Kreacher? How's he doing?" He asked as he sandwiched a fried egg between two pieces of buttered toast.

"Dobby is seeing an elf that is looking like Kreacher, but is clean and busy." Dobby hovered at the table, just to Harry's right. "Nice old house elf Kreacher is polishing silvers in the Drawing room." He looked proud, of him or Kreacher, Harry couldn't tell. He looked back down at his sandwich and contemplated it before he lifted up the top slice of toast to add some strips of bacon. This done, he picked the whole thing up and took a bite. Melted butter, crispy toast, crunchy bacon and just enough runny egg yolk...

Once he'd chewed and swallowed, he thanked Dobby with a huge smile.

"You can sit with me, if you want, have a pancake?" Harry had only dented the stack; there were still a good number under the heating charm. Dobby looked speculative but eventually scrambled up into the chair to Harry's right.

"Dobby will join Master Harry and be having tea, but Master Harry is not to invite House elves who is not free to the table!" he said squeakily, wagging a finger at him. Harry nodded solemnly;

"Yeah, I can see how that would upset them." He wondered if Dobby had had another go at Hermione yet, for her S.P.E.W campaign, not that it was going anywhere, fast. Dobby nodded in agreement, not looking the least bit sad for his fellow elves, just quietly determined. He poured himself his tea from the pot in the middle of the table, well; the tea poured itself and levitated over to him, anyway. Harry watched as it was doctored with large amounts of sugar, but no milk.

"Hey, Dobby... Did you ever cook for Sirius?" Harry asked, once he'd finished his sandwich. He didn't look at his friend when he asked, staring at his plate instead.

"Dobby did. Dobby is helping the Order look after itself." Harry glanced up to find Dobby with wet eyes, stirring his tea. "Dobby is sorry he was not cooking when Master Harry Potter was in the fire."

"Yeah, me too. I wish Kreacher hadn't been there at all." He dunked the strip of bacon he was fiddling with in the yolk of his second egg, "But I wanted to ask if you knew his favourite food, or something, or how he took his tea... things I didn't get a chance to learn about him."

Something about this house was settling, like just because Sirius was gone, it didn't mean he was gone. Like; Harry could remember his longing at the foot of the long table with his feet up on the wood, reading the Prophet and debunking articles; staying as far away from Tornado Weasley as he could get while still being provided with tea and scones, the sneaky little mutt. It was easier to think of him when he could put together happy memories, instead of just seeing the same one over and over. It still made his eyes burn, and his chest tight, but something dramatic had changed over the last twenty four hours.

"Milk, one cube of sugar, and a spoon to stir, always." Dobby croaked, blowing his nose on his tea towel before picking up his cup of tea and warming his hands on it. "Master Sirius was liking Treacle Tart, because it was, is Master Harry's favourite."

Harry choked on a laugh, "Bloody Sirius bloody Black... being all sentimental and making me cry, all over the place..." he pushed what remained of breakfast away and pillowed his head on his crossed arms. He was smiling through the tears, at least.

"He was liking his steak, too. With pepper and butter, but would not eat his spinach! And always, feetses on the table, no matter how many Prophetses Mistress Mrs Weasley rolled up..."

Harry laughed and cried in turns as Dobby cleared up his breakfast and kept up the light commentary. He wondered if this was what a wake was supposed to be like; food and teary reminiscence. He thought Sirius would have liked it.


	5. Chapter 5: Friends

_AN: In which there is ginger._

* * *

_Chapter Five: Friends._

Their laughter petered out eventually and Harry sat in silence with his head on his arms. After a while, Kreacher popped in to exchange the silver polish for glass cleaner. Harry scrutinised him while he could:

His rags had been replaced by a clean pillowcase with neatly hemmed holes cut for his neck and arms. He was still stooped and he still shuffled about but at least he was clean. Harry thought that his posture was probably due to his age, anyway. He looked... content.

He popped out once he had a fresh rag and the cleaner, without looking at Harry, and Dobby nodded, making a quiet sound of approval.

"Kreacher is being better now. Kreacher is needing orders to be well!" There was an odd thump and Harry turned around in his chair, cracking a grin when he spotted Dobby, liberally sprinkled with flour, kneading bread dough.

"Yeah, he looks good..." He pushed his chair back and stood with a stretch, "When do the Order usually come by? Is there anyone else living here that I should know about?" he managed to get out before a yawn took over his mouth.

"Mistress Mrs Weasley is bringing the Wheezeys after they is fed, the Order is having their meetingses after the Ministry is done for the day." He gave the dough another thump before dropping it on a baking tray. "But Dobby is only making two bedses."

Harry realised why Dobby had cooked so much, then. Even if the Weasley's had had breakfast before coming, Ron at least could pack away a second one and Ginny and the twins would give it a good go.

"Right, I'll go grab some books and wait for them here then." He nabbed another strawberry from the bowl.

Dobby looked at him sideways as he levitated the bread into the oven and snapped the door closed over it. "Mrs Weasley is saying 'Harry is too skinny!' Dobby is saying Master Harry Potter is eating while he studies." He looked fairly self-satisfied as Harry waved him off agreeably and disappeared up stairs.

Three flights of stairs later and he padded quietly past Snape's door to his own, panting slightly from the exertion and holding a hand to the side of his aching head. The unopened package from Remus was still on his desk, looking harmless after all the trouble it had caused. It'd forced him to face something that was too painful, too soon and he'd gotten lucky that the Death Eaters hadn't killed him as a result. The episode had lost him his Mother's protection, the only remnant of her magic he had left... It had lead to a bit of a break through though, for which he was grateful; he was no longer at risk of exploding if the thought about his Godfather. He still wasn't ready to open it though.

A quick rummage in the papers on his desk found the stack for potions and Harry retrieved his third-through- fifth year text books. He'd finally conceded that cross-referencing actually worked, so he gathered the entire stack of his own notes to take with him, adding a quill and ink at the last minute.

Stopping briefly in his doorway to nudge the door closed with his foot, he realised that he'd very nearly turned into Hermione.

XX*XX*XX*XX

The Weasley's arrived at half ten, by which time Dobby had left for Diagon Alley (though not before disappearing upstairs with a cup of tea for Snape,) and Harry had finished making a ingredient-property interactions diagram for the pain relief potion that Snape had used the day before. They'd covered it in third year; it dampened nervous transmission, and he worked out that Snape must have modified it to work with the anti-cruciatus potion to introduce a healing factor directly into the nervous system. Which explained the soporific factor, if Snape had used Acromantula venom...? He was slightly frustrated by his lack of knowledge about how the body worked, which made him think that Snape's training must have been pretty broad, after all, he wasn't just an expert brewer, he was inventing things too. Harry'd steadily nibbled his way through another pancake and most of the rest of the strawberries as he'd worked, niftily avoiding getting anything on his parchment.

Mrs Weasley came through the Floo first with a wide smile,

"Harry! Good morning, dear! How're you feeling?" She bustled over in the time it took him to cap his ink bottle and gave him one of those slightly awkward, sideways sitting down hugs. It was still nice, though. "I didn't think you'd be up until noon! Should you be up already? Perhaps you should take a nap..."

"Morning Mrs Weasley, I'm pretty good, actually... better than this time yesterday, really; your's and Dobby's food is amazing like that!" He said, his tongue stumbling slightly over the awkward sentence and stood up, once she'd freed him. He gathered his papers up into a pile so they wouldn't get lost in Hurricane Weasley. "Ron coming anytime soon?" He asked when the pause between her arrival and any further Floo activity dragged on a bit.

She was already at the counter, opening the cold box and pulling out vegetables. Harry doubted she ever stopped cooking... except when she was knitting. "Oh yes, dear. He just needs to turn back into a wizard. Honestly, those twins..."

"You called,"

"Oh, mother of ours?"

They chorused as they trotted down the stairs from the ground floor.

"Still apparating everywhere then. It's good to see you," They broke out in massive grins and bounced over. Being hugged by the Weasley twins was pretty overwhelming, with four arms and broad shoulders, you ended up in a kind of Weasley shell. The patted him jovially on the back and Harry gave them each a brief squeeze.

"Why if it isn't our secret investor!" One of them remarked as they leaned back, one hand each on his shoulder.

"Don't worry,"

"Mum already"

"Weasled"

"-it out of us!" They traded off until the final line, which they said together. Harry was fairly used to it by then; thinking of them as one person, but it did have the habit of making him slightly dizzy. Mrs Weasley huffed and the knife that was chopping the potatoes accelerated. Harry lowered his voice;

"Look, it wasn't charity, alright, I didn't want it at the time-" They bent their heads closer and whispered.

"We got it squared, Mate."

"Thirty percent of profits are yours, my boy."

"Silent partner, and all that."

"No one'll ever know!"

Harry smiled; relieved. He didn't want to tarnish their success by painting his name over the whole venture. It must've been going well, if they were talking about profit with such massive grins,

"It's all settled,"

"Goes straight into your school vault."

"No questions asked."

"In all seriousness, though, I don't want the money... Sirius... he left me almost everything." Harry lost a bit of his buoyant mood, looking at the floor and trying not to embarrass himself in front of the twins. There was quiet for a second as the twins exchanged a long glance.

"Look,"

"We've done our research."

"Thirty percent is your due, but,"

"There's nothing stopping you from re-investing it."

Harry looked up, suppressing the thought of Sirius again. They looked serious all of a sudden, like they had when they passed on the Marauders Map.

"You see,"

"We're developing a line of,"

"Products for the war."

A solemn silence, with only Mrs Weasley's cooking sounds in the background.

"Shielding Standards."

"Galvinising Gauntlets"

"Self -tightening Tourniquets."

Harry felt his jaw drop open slightly; he knew they were of age, but still! If they weren't in the Order, they should be. They were looking at each other again, trying to decide whether to say something or not.

"Oh, just spit it out, it'd be pretty hard to surprise me any more right now." Harry pulled Sirius' old chair out and flopped into it. The twins took the chairs to his left, with a little more self control.

"Patronus in a Jar."

"We don't know if we can get it to work,"

"But it's a damn good idea." Harry finished for them. It was mildly disconcerting to see them so in control, so serious, and it made him realise that their bouncing of the conversation wasn't just for fun. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned forwards with his elbows on the table. "That could save a lot of souls..."

"The mist..."

"Yeah." Harry made a snap decision, not that Remus would mind having someone else to talk about the Marauders to; "What if I said I could introduce you to Moony? What if I said he taught me the Patronus charm?"

"Professor Lupin is Moony?" they exclaimed together, drawing a glance from Mrs Weasley. The volume actually hurt Harry's ears. He looked them in the eye for a long second, confirming their conclusion.

"Moony, the werewolf. Padfoot, the dog Animagus. Wormtail, the rat. And Prongs, the stag." Harry managed not to choke, on either Sirius' alias, or Pettigrew's, but it was still hard. His chest twisted and tightened, but he managed to suppress the accidental magic that wanted to escape; it was easier that the day before, at least.

Fred and George looked utterly stunned; he could see the cogs moving though, fast, behind their eyes. They'd worked out the respective identities of the Marauders in the time it took Mrs Weasley to empty the kettle into the soup. It was pretty impressive to watch.

"Damn..."

"That's a,"

"kick in the teeth..." They grimaced and flopped back in their chairs,

"I was pretty pissed when I found out, too." Harry commented, waving the whole thing off. "Anyway, he's brilliant at Defence, and nifty with enchantments, the Map was a lot of his work."

His dad had done the casting, Sirius had said, but Moony had designed the bloody thing. Remus had spluttered and tried to pass on the honour by saying it had all been Padfoot's idea but Sirius was having none of it. The whole conversation had been just what he'd needed after being dragged over the coals at his Hearing.

The twins were doing that staring thing again, contemplative looks on their faces.

"We'll corner him,"

"At the next Order meeting."

"We're members now,"

"Had you heard?"

"Congratulations. It's about time. I'll be speaking to Dumbledore about that, myself..." Not a conversation he was looking forwards to, at all. He tugged his hands through his hair and ruffled it. It was still slightly damp and this made it stick up worse than ever.

"Harry... about yesterday,"

"Dad said you've had a tough time,"

"So anytime you need to relax,"

"No questions asked,"

"You can come be a test subject."

"Be a canary for the day."

"Or a mouse,"

"Kitten?"

"It's at random,"

"Not a snake though,"

"I don't care if you speak snake, you're a Gryffindor!"

Harry's heart stuck in his throat; that sounded pretty damned good. He'd always wanted to be an Animagus; because of Sirius and his Dad, but as the twins had pointed out, it'd also mean freedom. No need to think about what to say, how to act, who not to prank. The image of a black cat lounging in a patch of sun flashed in his mind, along with the feeling of warm lassitude.

Before he got a chance to reply the Floo flared again, and Ron tumbled out, though he did manage to keep his feet. There was a yellow feather stuck in his hair and a couple on his clothes too. He was swiftly followed by Ginny, who was smirking fit to be a Twin.

"That does sound pretty good; I'll keep it in mind, alright?" He replied as the new arrivals brushed themselves off,

The twins leant in and lowered their voices,

"By the way,"

"Ron doesn't know,"

"That you're our silent partner."

"We thought you,"

"Should tell him."

Harry couldn't work out if that was a good thing or not, but he nodded his thanks anyway before standing up to greet his best friend.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron was smiling widely, which didn't quite cover up the concern in his face.

"Hullo, Ron." He smiled reassuringly back, "I'm alright. Better than before, anyway." He got tugged into a 'manly hug', which consisted of receiving back-slapping and getting his hand shaken; Ron was one of the least 'huggy' Weasley's.

"Good to hear," Ron spotted the second breakfast then, as he pulled back so Ginny could have her turn, "Oh, pancakes!" no surprises there, Harry thought. He also thought that Ron would corner him later and either force him to talk or get him to promise to talk to Hermione. Having so many siblings around meant that Ron was pretty clued in about Accidental magic and he'd always worked out what had got Harry going in the past. It was kind of nice; he certainly appreciated the help.

"Hey Gin, good holiday?" he said with a grin, glancing at the small yellow feathers shrinking into nothing on the kitchen floor. She was pretty much the same height as him, he found when she got her hug, and about as skinny. It was a better look on her though, she wasn't gaunt. She kept smiling, glancing at Ron occasionally;

"Yeah, the twins have been a right menace; they got Ron with an absolute classic!" She sobered a little bit before she continued, "How about you, Harry? Dad told us what happened yesterday." She settled herself into the chair to the left of the foot of the table, turning one of the twins out first. He was happy enough to go, drawn into a discussion about expanding the Map, or making a new one for Diagon, something along those lines, Harry wasn't paying attention.

"Right... yesterday." His hair got some more abuse; the tumult of emotions was manageable but still stressful to experience and suppress.

"You don't have to talk about it yet, mate. I guess it's still pretty... yeah." Ron spoke up, mouth full of syrupy pancake and butter, from his perch leaning one hip against the table.

"Thanks Ron," He felt the pressure ease considerably, but still; he'd have to do this sometime. "But it's ok, I've got a bit more control than I did yesterday."

"So it was accidental magic?" Ron asked, pulling out the nearest chair and dropping into it.

"Absolutely. I got a package from Remus, something that he and Sirius had been working on," He paused to maintain his equilibrium, "and the note set me off. It's pretty dim, really, but I'd been trying so hard not to think about him, about that night, that when I was reminded, it just... poof." He made an exploding gesture with his hands, even as he hunched in on himself and stared at the table.

"My Uncle was just... so furious. Face was as red as it's ever been. I think some plaster fell in the living room or something. Anyway, they all came charging upstairs and started pounding on the door, I somehow managed to do Accidental Herbology on the doorframe. I think. It grew branches and leaves and stopped the door from opening."

"STOP THIS FREAKISHNESS RIGHT NOW! Do you hear me POTTER?" The memory burst to the top of his mind pretty forcefully and he tried to hide his shudder. Ron's warm hand, heavy on his shoulder helped.

"The door started to break anyway, then he started yelling through the crack that I wasn't family, and... and I felt the wards fall." He fell quiet then, feeling the prickle of Ron's emotions on his skin, Harry wasn't the only one who could do accidental magic. The whole room was quiet; looking up, Harry saw that Mrs Weasley had stopped to listen and the twins were watching him intently.

"I guess the Death Eaters had someone watching, or a monitoring spell or something, like the one Dumbledore has, 'cause they showed up only a couple of minutes after the Order. The house took quite a beating pretty quickly." Remembering the 'volley' Snape had fired out of the window, Harry looked at the twins;

"Snape used some kind of sleeping potion, an airborne one, to knock out some of them. You should look into delayed-shattering charms and something with the incantation 'momentia'. It was bloody effective."

"Language, Harry!" Mrs Weasley chimed in, finding something to chide him about, since she couldn't tell him off for giving them product suggestions. The twins nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley. Anyway, stunners and combination jinxes held off the worst until the portkeys activated, bringing everyone here. About twelve people, probably; two to each window facing the street or on the north side of the house. One person to man the portkey and temporary wards while staying under cover, the other firing at the Death Eaters." Harry found it easier to talk, once he'd got to the battle and past the emotional stuff. Ron chipped in, then;

"That's good strategy, there. The one in cover is safe and keeps the other mostly covered, at no risk. If their partner is hurt, then, both can still portkey away. Everyone always gets home; it's like a Salem Gambit." Harry thought that was probably a chess move, though he supposed it could be from one of the strategy books Ron read occasionally. Very occasionally.

"That's pretty much how it went; Shacklebolt ran a countdown so everyone could keep firing until the last second, then Snape and I got into cover and your dad gave us the Portkey." He sat back; spreading his hand's to say 'that's it.'

"What did I say about talking yourself down, love? Harry here cast some excellent Transfigurations, iced over the street!" Mrs Weasley added to her children, then to Harry; "Don't you worry about the Trace, now either, Kingsley's squared it all with Mafalda."

If only it had been that easy the year before, Harry thought. He had suspected at the time that the trial had been more about his claims that Voldemort was back than any actual standard court proceedings, this just made it certain.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Icy Impacts! Leave your enemies slipping,"

"And sliding,"

"And Slytherin," Ginny rolled her eyes and reached over to clip the twin in question around the back of the head.

"All the way to Azkaban!"

Harry smiled and laughed quietly, leaning back against his chair, watching the twins plan and even get their wands out and start Transfiguring bits of the table's surface into ice. Trust the twins.

XX*XX*XX*~

Severus Snape was not a morning person. Never in his life had he been a morning person, and he was not about to start now. As the sedative effects of the potion wore off he surfaced slowly and against his better judgment. He twitched his fingers first and then flexed his feet, in order to determine that, yes, all his limbs remained functional and, yes, the cruciatus potion had done its job; of the searing agony he could have otherwise expected was much reduced. It was accompanied by stiffness in his muscles and joints that made him groan as he rolled over on his side to reach his wand.

Dusty black hair fell over his face when he lifted his head and he brushed it back irritably. A very tempting pair of potions stood next to his wand and he grabbed the pain reliever and muscle relaxant along with the precious stick of mahogany.

A 'tempus' told him that it was nearing ten fifty five, leaving him more than over due for both doses, so he downed them quickly. Long experience stopped him from grimacing at the taste, but they were still disgusting. Sitting up, he spotted the cup of Ceylon Black sitting with his morning Prophet further back on the bedside table, much to his hidden pleasure. He took a large sip, finding it to his liking, then settled back to allow the potions time to work.

He already knew what the papers would say; Boy Who Lived, Homeless! Death Eater attack in Surrey! Dark Mark seen by Muggles! So easy for the Dark Lord to manipulate the papers, these days, Skeeter was getting useful again, after a year of quiet... it was like someone in the Order had managed to gain some control but Snape had heard no talk about any dirt on the vicious little woman. Perhaps a little asking around would glean answers; a useless little tit-bit to take to his Master, he thought with a sneer.

He ignored the Prophet, in any case, and concentrated on his tea; no milk, no sugar. The house was still quiet, which Severus took to mean that the Weasley's had yet to get to the cleaning. He would prefer to be ensconced in the potions lab in the basement before the ruckus began but he needed a shower first; he downed the last of his tea and stood with only marginally less grace than usual. While he had managed to get his heavy protective robes off, after he'd undone the collar the charm on the buttons had done the rest for him, he'd not bothered getting out of his waistcoat, white shirt or trousers. As a result he felt uncomfortably crumpled and stripped off quickly to head for the connected bathroom.

Had anyone compared the two, they would have found an amusing similarity between one Harry Potter and his Potions Professor; a predilection to take long, hot showers. As Severus stepped under the water, he waved the pressure up with his wand and turned his back to the stream. The jets played over stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders and helped the muscle relaxant he had taken do its job. Between the brief but intense battle, his extensive use of Legilimency and the intense discussion he and Albus had had about Harry's sanity, he had not been as well prepared nor had he had as much energy as usual when the Call had come. The cruciatus had been much harder to handle, as a result, and he had been unable to restrain the convulsions as effectively.

Close inspection under the good lighting in the bathroom showed bruises on his elbows and the points of his wrists and he grumbled before ducking back under the water to rinse off his shampoo.

Thinking of Potter's sanity... Severus had detected something off about the boy the moment he had made eye contact at that accursed house but it wasn't until he had made that absurd statement; the boy had been categorically not fine, that he had risked Legilimency. His mind had caused Severus actual, physical pain when he had grazed it to get some answers, among them, how the boy had recognised Dreamless Sleep when his potion's skills were so atrocious.

What he had found was so far from what he had expected that it was only in the light of the afternoons events that it had began to come into focus. It had felt like stepping foot into a raging glacial river, hurtling down a mountain side at great speed and carrying shards of ice with it. Potter's conscious mind had sat like a thin and fragile veneer of control over the top. From the little time he'd been able to stand the maelstrom before he had been cast away he'd seen grief, pain, anger, and identified the shards of emotion that tore at his mind as compressed, suppressed and concentrated rage. That Harry was still sane was hard to grasp, until Severus had been able to go deeper, with Harry in a locked-in catatonic state.

There, with time and pre-preparedness, he had been able to protect himself from and identify the strange layering that had occurred; the violent, destructive emotions remained on the surface, away from Harry's logical and executive functions, which were shielded from them by 'still' emotions and memories. Severus had only rarely encountered Occlumency so deep in his career and that Harry had achieved it, apparently with great regularity, was an indication that the portion his magic that was closely bound to his emotions had become too chaotic for his executive mind, his consciousness, to handle. As such, the emotional magic, when pushed away during the selective experience of one emotion or sensation was not integrated into the sensation of 'self', resulting in its settling out. Had he had time, he would have catalogued the layers Harry's mind had formed but a cursory perception had showed him that the chaos he had felt in the first instance, while Harry was conscious and panicked by the loss of the wards, had settled into three primary zones; violent emotions and raw magic, 'still' emotions and the solidity of knowledge.

That Harry was aware of all this, had retreated into this state to re-integrate a part if the outermost layer, the 'maelstrom', as Harry's mind had labelled and visualised it, was a good sign that he would be able to further complete the process. With luck.

Now done in the shower, Severus stepped out and began to dry off, using a combination of large fluffy towel and drying spells.

On the one hand, integration would afford Harry, Potter, a greater degree of control, preventing outbreaks of accidental magic, such as the day before from reoccurring. On the other hand, losing that layer of chaotic, magically active emotion would leave his mind open to the connection with the Dark Lord. Severus had no illusions; were Harry to think of him during an active intrusion by the Dark Lord the solid and un-tempered trust the boy seemed to have granted him would make life difficult. He would be ordered to bring Voldemort his Boy-Who-Lived and be forced to either die or hide, fight and then die.

On that note, the realisation that Potter's visions were not intrusions based on Legilimency was a curse in the dark; Albus had crumpled, when told that Harry's training could have gone so very differently. With that knowledge, Severus would have concentrated on treating the effects of the visions and perhaps teach the boy to manipulate them. Albus had jumped to conclusions; working within the assumption that the war was working like a chess board, move and counter move, had limited his ability to see clearly, in real world terms. By believing that any event was either caused by the Light side or by Voldemort, he had excluded the possibility that Harry was somehow the active party. As unpleasant as his visions were, as damaging, it was easy imagine that he would avoid them had he been in control, but apparently it had not been that simple.

Leaving one soggy towel in the bathroom and wrapping himself in a relatively dry one, he emerged from the steam into his temporary bedroom. It was much warmer than both his dungeon rooms and Spinners End, both up here and in the lab off the kitchens, so he left his tunics alone as he gathered clothes.

Albus had still felt it justified that he had avoided contact with Potter but agreed that an apology was in order. He had looked appropriately apologetic and given that, when not smiling inanely, the Headmaster was almost as poor as Potter at concealing his emotions, it was clear that the sentiment was sincere. He had looked so incredibly sad, as Severus was leaving, that he had commented;

"He will recover, Headmaster. Be it with my help, or without." Blue eyes devoid of twinkle met his,

"I do not doubt it; I merely wish that he did not need to recover." Severus had snorted and turned his back,

"Then you should have kidnapped him as a child, Headmaster, and cast two fingers at legality." He'd felt immensely satisfied, at that, given how foolish he had felt when he discovered that the 'spoiled Potter brat' did not actually exist outside of his own mind. He had regretted giving in to his baser instinct later but what he had said was the truth and he was not one to try and take back something both parties knew to be true. He had left after that and had had only minutes to prepare a second report, focusing on what Dumbledore wanted, how had Harry put it? Mouldy Voldie? To know.

The meeting had been simple enough, routine if immensely unpleasant, but returning first to the Headmaster, then to an obnoxious house elf, then to be subjected to Potter's help? He had been somewhat unimpressed by the entire episode. He, grudgingly, admitted that taking the potion had been the logical choice, given the evidence, but to be subjected to Potter's hero complex was a little insulting. Though... he could not say he was not grateful for Harry's request that he remain at Grimmauld Place; even with the Weasley family's almost constant presence, the House was empty over night and he was not comfortable with Potter being alone for so long.

By the time he was buttoning his robes over his shirt and waistcoat, manually as the buttons were already charmed to undo themselves and couldn't be charmed for the reverse as well, the noise had begun. He detected the distinctive dual-tone of the twins on the stairs, followed by what was in all likelihood the loudest of the Golden Trio. He couldn't be sure whether or not Potter was with them; the boy was quiet, as a rule, but he strongly suspected he was. That left Mrs Weasley and the Weasley female, Ginevra, who occasionally managed to excuse herself from cleaning by, he imagined, claiming interest in cooking.

The footsteps ceased before reaching Severus' floor, leading him to assume that they had been tasked with the main reason the house was not full of Order members; the Bath Room. Infested with Doxies and a Kappa, the Bath Room had thoroughly earned the capitalisation and doom-laden voice with which it was occasionally spoken. Kappa hair, long strands of a seaweed-like substance, would be a most welcome addition to his stores, should the twins manage to subdue it. Given the Underage Magic laws, he suspected Potter and Ronald would be dealing with the Doxies; he would remind them to collect their carcasses.

He fastened the final button at his throat, lifting his chin to adjust the shirt collar, as he left the room. Since the Twins were in evidence, he locked and warded his door out of sensible paranoia before making his way to the Bath Room.


	6. Chapter 6: The Bath Room

_AN: slightly longer chapter today, it wanted to be even longer though, so I'll be posting the next tommorow. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Six: The Bath Room.

Unlike the en-suits, the Bath Room did, in fact, contain baths. A large copper tub stood near the fire place and the laundry cupboard which Ronald and Potter were approaching with Doxycide, while the centre of the room contained a sunken tub, much like the Prefect's bath at Hogwarts. The room was foul; Severus didn't know whether the Blacks had deliberately muddied the place in an attempt to keep the Kappa happy or if the creature had managed it all on its own, but either way the tile floor was black and green with slime. The larger of the baths was so thick with growth that the water was opaque and the Kappa's hair disguised it perfectly. Severus only spotted it because it was following the red bauble one of the twins was waving with large bile-green eyes.

He was able to watch, undetected for some minutes, while the teenagers? Young men? Worked at getting the place de-toothed. The Weasley's all looked healthy, particularly Ronald, when stood next to Potter and the contrast was sharper than it had ever been. Potter's skin was porcelain white, showing no hint of the Quidditch tan he had had when Umbridge had banned him and there were still dark rings under his eyes, despite being given Dreamless Sleep. His magical reserves were depleted by his accidental magic, after all, despite the pear-drop flavoured Strengthener he had been fed before the battle, and that would cause lingering tiredness. Hopefully the underage magic ban would allow his reserves to repair and refill before term began.

Though Potter had always been small, he remained within the lower bounds of normal height but he showed no evidence of the growth spurt that his co-conspirator was beginning. Severus watched as the pair easily split the task in two; Ronald taking the top shelves and Potter the bottom. They didn't say anything, but the automatic adjustment for Harry stature was obvious.

But... not only was he short, he was delicate; his limbs narrow and elegant under the light coating of flying muscles. Perhaps Severus should work on the Skele-Grow modification he'd been attempting, Potter looked infinitely breakable. Which brought him back to the realisation midway through the previous year that not all was right at Number Four...

Shaking the thoughts and regrets out of his mind for now, he stepped into the large Bath Room, aiming a strong cleaning charm at the floor to prevent anyone from slipping on the foulness and requiring their skulls fixing. Why the twins had not done so already was apparent when the Kappa hissed and spluttered angrily, disappearing into the bath. He raised a single eyebrow at the twins, chiding them for attempting to placate the creature.

"Attempting to negotiate with a Kappa, without a cucumber in sight? Were you still in education, I would be forced to take points." There was some snarling from the younger Weasley, which he judiciously ignored. The twins turned in unison, breaking out into mischievous grins; he knew he should not have allowed them use of the lab last year; they were truly insufferable... though, Umbridge's unfortunate experiences had been rather satisfying.

"Professor Snape!"

"How nice to see you,"

"We heard you were,"

"Positively _Weasleish_ yesterday!"

The two had rather foolishly turned their back on the bath and the Kappa was looking at them hungrily. Severus doubted that they had not noticed it's attentions but he touched the handle of his wand as a precaution. Potter also appeared to have noticed, though Ronald looked as oblivious as ever.

"I am a Slytherin, such tactics are my purview." He smirked, "It would not go amiss for you to learn the Shapiro Delay charm, or the Newton's Cradle jinx, should you wish to recreate the effect."

Their grins widened, if that was possible, and Severus could see the possibilities whizzing through their heads, even without Legilimency.

"That, however, is not the reason for my presence. I am running low on Doxy venom," He gave a significant, but brief, glance at the bath to indicate that he wanted some Kappa parts too, while trying not to alert the beast in question. He was apparently unsuccessful as it chose that moment to leap out of the water at the twins. Even before it left the water completely, four wands were pointed at its scaly body. Severus' Impedimentia slowed it in mid-air while the twins' sucking hex and conjured jar combination took the water from the depression on top of its head and sealed it away. Rendered powerless; the creature screamed and thrashed in the bounds of the spell, trying to reach the twins. Given the chance, it would drink the balance of their blood after choking the life out of them. Severus ended that particularly unfortunate possibility using the Kind Killer curse. Only effective on non-sentient creatures, it was the curse used for euthanizing injured animals and slaughtering cattle. Fortunately, it was not the sickening green of its Unforgivable cousin.

He noted that Potter had waited for a second longer than the twins or himself and had not cast a spell, as he had seen their wands rise. His consideration for the underage magic laws was commendable, as he'd balanced the lives of his friends more highly than legality, while ensuring that had he cast a spell, it would have been completely necessary. Severus lowered the dead Kappa to the floor, onto a conjured tarpaulin, while the twins approached with an appropriate amount of caution.

"Bloody hell!" Ronald exclaimed, "I don't even have my wand on me..." Severus saw Potter pat his friends shoulder and mumbled something before breaking out into a loud voice;

"Constant Vigilance!" his exclamation made Ronald jump and stirred up the Doxies so the two turned back and started zapping them with Doxycide before they got bitten.

"Kappa hair."

"Toenails."

"Head water?" "Brain juice?" "Maybe Kappa hat?"

"It is known as Kappa Cranial fluid, do cease you inane prattle..." Severus intoned as he took the jar of fluid and held it at eye level for inspection.

"Right you are, sir. Shutting up."

"Thanks, by the way,"

"For helping us not die."

"Indeed. You may help me in the lab as repayment, once your cleaning is complete." He joined the pair crouched next to the tarp and fished his dragon hide gloves out of his robes. Pulling them on, he lifted the Kappa's foot to inspect the, afore mentioned, toenails, which were a core ingredient in Liquid Luck. The twins were having a silent conversation yet again, to his relief; they were far less annoying when quiet. Harvesting the Kappa's useful parts would be a foul job and he would be happy to leave it to them, though he would, no doubt, be required to give instruction.

He half caught a snippet of Harry, Potter's conversation with his side-kick when his name was mentioned,

"... nape pulled his wand like that! Jumped right out of my skin..." He never paused in his application of Doxycide, however; catching one headed towards Potter in its evil little face.

"Seriously, Ron? You were watching _Snape_ when a Kappa tried to kill your brothers?" Potter looked incredulous, from what Snape could see of his face. "Priorities mate, honestly."

"Come on, don't tell me he isn't a threat, I mean, he _was_ a Death Eater." Snape stiffened a little, curious as to what Potter's reaction to that would be. The twins seemed to be listening too, with little smirks on their faces. Severus was certain that they had worked out who the Order's source in the Death Eater ranks was and it had not changed their behaviour towards him. If anything, he had earned a bit of respect from them for that, in addition to his provision of lab space.

"Look, they proved it in court, didn't they? He was a spy for Dumbledore, if not for the whole time, then at least by the end." Potter snapped. Snape relaxed again, imperceptibly, and began gathering up the tarp into a water proof bundle with the twins help. Potter looked almost irritated by his friends' mistrust and squirted a Doxy vigorously.

"We'll be done by,"

"around lunchtime."

"Now that this bugger,"

"Language, Weasley," he warned with a faint glare. The twin swallowed and handed him the final corner of tarp, which he secured with a sticking charm.

"Sorry sir, the Kappa,"

"is dealt with; we can use magic,"

"the rest shouldn't take long."

Severus nodded in acknowledgment as he stood; levitating the bundle, "Bring the Doxies down with you," He said, with a glance at the bucket of deceased pests, "All of them. You may have a share of the venom, _after_ it has been properly collected."

"Right you are, sir!" They chorused as he turned and left, the Kappa floating behind him.

He would start with something interesting... Wolfsbane, perhaps? Before settling into the routine brewing for the infirmary, he thought was he made his way to the lab.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Harry watched with amusement as the twins competed with area-effect cleaning charms; producing ever increasing circles of sparkling tile and fittings. A buzz to his left made him whip his head 'round, duck and squirt in quick succession. The Doxy squealed and spiralled down to the floor, to join the others yet to be thrown in the bucket.

"Don't know how you do that, Harry... I'd've got me ears bitten off by now." Ron was standing further back from the cupboard, unwittingly holding his atomiser bottle like an arcade gun and 'shooting' down the little pests.

"Me neither, good for Seeking though." He commented, turning back to the cupboard; the twins didn't need his encouragement to continue their game. By waiting for the perfect moment, he managed to get two Doxies with one shot but almost stood on one of the fallen pests in the process. "Just a sec Ron, let me clear some of these up."

"Right o." While Ron took over keeping the dwindling numbers of Doxies at bay, Harry started slinging the dead ones into the bucket. Their fairy-like appearance put them firmly in the Uncanny-Valley category and Harry shuddered as he picked one up by a miniscule foot.

"Hey, Ron?" He said quietly once he rejoined his friend.

"Yeah mate?" Ron replied absently,

"Sorry for snapping at you, it was out of line." There was a pause in the squirting and Harry looked over to see Ron's face twisted up,

"No, I get that you trust him. Dumbledore does too, I just don't know _why_, which makes it hard to believe." He shrugged and zapped another Doxy before kicking the base of the cupboard to get the last few to come out.

"Right... I guess you have to see it for yourself..." Harry commented before changing the subject to potential Fred and George replacements for the Quidditch team; Ron was instantly distracted.

They finished with the Doxies not long after Snape left and moved on to cleaning up ancient potion sludge that may once have been hair product. Needless to say, exposure to Doxy droppings had not made it any _less_ volatile; the twins tried to Scrougify it but it merely turned purple and began to bubble.

"Sorry lads,"

"You're on your own."

They returned to polishing the fifteen or so taps along the edge of the sunken tub, practicing their aim in the process. Ron and Harry cracked on with Salima's non-magical Spill Solvent, which smelled like bleach to Harry, and scrubbing brushes.

"Hey, Harry?" Ron asked as he sat back on his heels to give his hand a break.

"Yeah mate?" Harry kept on scrubbing,

"You reckon you'll keep on with the DA?" He joined Ron in sitting on his heels and stretched out his stiff fingers.

"I... hadn't thought about it yet." He looked down at his gloved fingers as he locked them together the stretched them out in front of him. "I could, if there's still interest. Dumbledore wouldn't mind, I reckon."

"Nah, he'd just make,"

"You let the Slytherins in!" Chimed in the twins from their cautious inspection of the smaller tub.

"That... might not be such a bad idea..." Harry said quietly, thinking hard. If they could integrate the Slytherins, the neutral ones, then they could 'save' some of them from the discrimination Harry knew they received, perhaps postponing or preventing their falling down on the wrong side of the line.

He only had a moment to think about it before Ron exploded;

"WHAT? You can't be serious mate, that's bonkers!" He threw his scrubbing brush down, where it bounced across the now almost clean tile. "They're Death Eaters in training! They don't need any help from us!" Harry may have lost his rag, a little bit, at that, and stood up with a fierce look on his face.

"Do you _seriously_ believe that every single one of those _children_ is a cold-blooded, psychopathic killer, Ron? Do you look at them and see the killing curse? Or is it just cruciatus? They're just KIDS!" He wasn't quite yelling, but the force with which he spat the words made Ron lean back. He soon got a grip though and stood up. Harry frowned at this use of unfair advantage as Ron towered a good four inches taller than him.

"That's not the point! They won't be kids forever! They've the potential, they proved it the moment the Sorting Hat decided they would do best in a House founded on _lying, cheating_ and _Blood Purity!"_

Harry was too furious to notice the twins watching with trepidation, like any in feud within the family, they wouldn't take sides, but they had decided to step in if it came to blows; Harry just looked too fragile.

"You want to talk about _potential_, Ron? Then you should probably know that the Hat wanted to _put me in Slytherin!_ I've got the _potential_ to cast the cruciatus curse, I cast it at Bellatrix! That does not mean that I'm _ever_ going to become a Death Eater, or give up on making the world a better place by ridding it of that _bastard Voldemort!"_ Harry was panting and his head swimming with exertion and emotion. He'd seen more bullying done by and to Slytherins than between any other house, he'd seen what his _own father_ had done to the current Head of Slytherin and he would stick to his convictions, but the fear that Ron would drop him like a hot potato was intense. He felt a warm hand land on his shoulder and give it a quick squeeze, he looked up at a Fred-Or-George, who was smiling grimly but supportively. The other twin was looking very disappointedly at Ron.

"Bloody hell, Harry... I didn't mean you..." he said squeakily, talking a half step backwards.

Suddenly tired, Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and leant slightly into the hand on the shoulder. He felt the twin step closer, just in case. "Look Ron, that's not the point. Not all of Slytherin equate to Lucius Malfoy, half of them aren't even pure bloods. There are even muggle-born in there." Ron didn't say anything; the look of shame on his face was enough. Harry was just glad he hadn't run off yet.

"I'm not saying we should trust them but then, I'm not saying we trust anyone new. If I do keep up the DA, with the current climate, it's going to be massively popular with _everyone_. The children of Death Eaters will probably be told to spy on us, but we won't fix that just by freezing out the Slytherins. Remember Peter Pettigrew and who-knows how many other non-Slytherin Death Eaters, Marietta Edgecomb last year," He paused and took a deep breath, he was still feeling a little light headed, "We can't draw the lines of Battle on the basis of House, it was fine for school rivalry but we'll just give _Him_ the advantage if we do that now."

He let out the rest of his air in a sigh, his shoulders slumping. The twin behind him squeezed his shoulder gently and started rubbing circles next to his spine with a thumb. Ron looked completely stunned,

"Look, if you're so good at chess, you must have a pretty strong hold on strategy, right?" He nodded silently, "Then look at it this way, the more we erode that idea of 'Slytherin is evil', the fewer impressionable kids Voldemort can seduce. If we're careful, we might even be able to convert some of those who would fight for that side just _because_ they're in Slytherin, even if they don't believe in the ideals." Ron's face was getting twisted up again, like it did when he wanted to say something, Harry stayed quiet to give him the chance.

"But what about _Malfoy_? You can't just ignore everything he said, he's just a bully!" Ron looked indignant, which Harry could understand.

"Then you agree, right, that that kind of behaviour is outrageous, unacceptable?" He asked tiredly, not really wanting to break this to Ron.

"Yeah, of course. After everything he's said to Hermione..."

"Ok, and if it was anyone, not just the son of a man your family has a beef with?" Fred (or maybe George) tightened his grip on Harry minutely; he knew were this was going, Harry was sure.

"Yeah, it's harsh no matter who it comes from." Ron was nodding and looking a little more himself now that he was on familiar turf.

"This might sound random but how many times do you think I've split up Slytherins bullying another House?" This would be the match point, Harry was pretty sure, and the twins would back him up on it after having had the Marauders map for who-knew how long.

"Uhh, you've mentioned it a few times, a couple, I guess?" Ron looked like he was willing to see where this was going, though he was pretty sceptical.

"Three times between kids in the same year and twice with older kids picking on little ones."

Ron's face took on that look of righteous anger that Harry was so familiar with and he opened his mouth to speak; Harry got in there with his next point before he could start.

"How many Slytherins _getting bullied_ do you think I've seen?" That stopped him in his tracks and Ron looked down and the freshly scrubbed floor, shuffling his feet slightly.

"I dunno," Harry pinched the bridge of his nose again as Ron began shuffling his feet like a child.

"Seventeen times, I've broken up a ring of kids around some crying little snip who just wanted to hide for a week. _Seventeen_. And every damn time it was some older kids picking on Slytherins _half their size_. Not other Slytherins, either; Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, _Gryffindors!"_ Ron finally looked up, his eyes troubled.

"But,"

"If you dare imply that those kids were asking for it, I _will_ get Fred and George to test _everything they have ever invented on _YOUR SORRY HIDE!" Ron actually flinched at that and Harry reflected that his tone must have been _harsh_; it had hurt his throat on its way out.

"I wasn't going to! Honest! It's just, why haven't I seen anything like this? I trust your word, honest, it's just, I don't get it!" Ron stepped forwards and Harry was glad to see that he didn't look pissed anymore, just very, very confused. That made him calm down a little,

"It's hard, Ron, to see something you don't want to. You've grown up hearing about 'you-know-who' and Slytherin and Lucius Malfoy, all in conjunction with evil, pain and grief, it's not surprising that you'd find it hard to see anyone wearing a green badge as innocent. But they _are_ Ron, and believing they're not, on the basis of their House is as bad as believing that one person is better than the next because their parents are magical."

That had been... very hard to say, Harry thought, but it had probably been even harder to hear. Harry felt pressure on his shoulder again and was gently drawn back into Fred's chest,

"Let's give him time to think about that, shall we? Bit harsh when you work that one out, takes a lot of growing up." Harry relaxed against his old teammate and nodded, letting him guide him out of the room and towards the stairs. He saw, as they were leaving, Ron being comforted by his brother and looking shell shocked.

Harry and Fred (he thought, for no particular reason,) made their way, tiredly in one case and solicitously in the other, to the kitchen. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were well on the way to having lunch on the table and Dobby had reappeared from his tasks in the Alley. Harry's money pouch would no doubt be back on his bed, alongside his new clothes; laid out to be inspected.

The little elf was directing the table-laying with a finger, looking like a conductor, while Ginny grated cheese over a tray of croutons. Mrs Weasley was wiping her hands on a tea-towel when they arrived and immediately bustled over to him, extracting him from Fred's arms for a hug.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry, was all that cleaning too much? I know yesterday was hard..." The concern and the hug both were welcome and Harry closed his eyes as he rested his forehead on her collarbone.

"No... Well, I am pretty tired, but it's not that bad. Ron and I had an argument." He said, muffled by her blouse and apron.

He could feel her and Fred exchanging significant glances over his head but didn't have the energy to work out what they might mean. Mrs Weasley patted him on the back and released him, after a final squeeze;

"Well then, let's get you fed then. Ronald too; Fred, ring the bell for your brothers, please." Once Harry was safely ensconced at the head of the table again, Fred picked up the hand bell off the counter and rang it out the kitchen door. Harry watched slightly dazedly as Ginny toasted the cheesy croutons under the grill.

Would Ron work it out, like Fred had implied? It was pretty difficult to tell, he could be unpredictable sometimes, like during fourth year. Harry sighed and dropped his head onto his folded arms. He felt pretty bad about what he'd said; for all that he couldn't have got through to him any other way, it was still painful to hurt his best mate like that. He hoped it wouldn't make things awkward, either, but he hoped it wouldn't, given how subdued Ron had looked as they left.

Mrs Weasley reappeared from the direction of the potions lab, Harry hadn't twigged where she'd disappeared to but now he assumed that it was to summon Snape. The man followed her into the room after a moment and Harry was half surprised, half amused to see his hair was tied back instead of slathered in grease. It made him look much younger and Harry could see why he kept it down in class; it added to his presence.

The man sat down to Harry's left, raising an eyebrow at the slumped figure.

"'m alright. Tired." Harry stated in response to the unspoken query.

"Hmph. I would send you to bed, if I thought you would listen. Poppy would have my head if she knew you were out of bed after the events of yesterday." Harry listened to the tone of the man's voice, as deep and comforting now as his magic had been the day before. Harry wondered if that was because of Snape's attitude, his surprising lack of vitriol, or simply because Harry knew he could be trusted now.

"Might listen, you never know. Might go to bed even if you don't." Harry mumbled with his cheek squashed against his arm. He looked blearily, partially because his glasses were askew, up at the Potions Master, and saw the man smirk.

"Very well then; as your current healer, I advise an afternoon nap, followed by no more that book work or other such sitting-down centred activities." Snape raised an eyebrow at him as if to say 'well?' and Harry chuckled as he levered his head off his arms.

"Sounds like a good idea sir, I might just do that." He leaned back against the high chair-back and half grinned at the Professor, who just shook his head wryly. It would strike Harry later that they had just had their first voluntarily civil exchange, but in the moment it felt natural, so the incident passed without comment and Harry tucked into his soup and croutons. The food perked him up a bit, as did the arrival of a quiet but not-angry Ron, bearing Doxies that got quickly sent to the lab. Mrs Weasley had sat to his right, with Ginny next to her, so Ron sat next to Ginny. Unfortunately for Snape, that left him sitting next to the twins; Harry was quite content to eat quietly and listen to the resulting sniping. He did wonder when the three had developed a non-violent relationship, but it could have been at any time since before they had left school. A lot of their products _did _rely on potions after all.

Harry was full before he really noticed; he assumed that it was Mrs Weasley who kept causing more food and tit-bits to appear on his plate, she was determined, it seemed, to feed him up. Eventually he made his way up stairs, escorted by a quiet and smug looking Dobby, leaving the hum of conversation behind.

The elf insisted he change into the black cotton pyjama's that were laid out on the bed before availing himself of it, but he didn't mind since they were wonderfully comfortable. He took a lazy look at the additions to his wardrobe, fingering the warm, comfortable fabrics and enjoying the full colours, so different from the faded ones of his cousins cast offs and the plain red, gray and black of his school uniform. There was a thick dressing gown, too, which felt like it would be nice and warm. He thanked the elf for thinking of everything and being so thorough, which just made him blush and tear up over how good a wizard Master Harry Potter was, embarrassing them both. Dobby took himself away quietly after that; giving Harry one of his patented waist-high hugs before popping out.

Spotting the package from Remus on the desk, he picked it up and put in on the bedside table before curling up under the bedcovers. Once he was settled and warm he reached out and pulled the brown-paper covered object on to the bed with him. He didn't think he was quite ready to deal with some of the possibilities contained within that package, not when he was so tired, so he let his eyes close, one hand resting lightly on the paper. It was easier than ever to slip in under the snow; the storm was barely even blowing, and he went to sleep peaceful and protected.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

Severus Snape was intrigued by the radical change in his interactions with Potter. He did not feel like he had changed something momentous about himself, there was nothing fundamentally different; all he had done was refrain from mentioning the young man's father. Perhaps within that was the answer; where Potter had been wrongly treated like a child, he had treated him as an adult. In truth, he was neither, Severus oscillated between thinking of him as 'the boy' and as a man, albeit a young one; as he would a graduate student, but there was something compelling about Harry Potter, now. An old, glittering knowledge in the way he looked at the world.

The remembered sensation of absolute trust was something profound that Severus kept returning to. As he had guided and protected that fragile part of Harry's mind, enfolding it in his magic and will, he had felt Harry's 'grip' on him falter then strengthen, bringing with it that trust. It had felt like holding something very precious and warm enfolded in his cloak, near his chest. Perhaps that explained some of the ease with which their two subsequent meetings had passed. Severus certainly had no desire to betray that memory.

He huffed quietly enough that the twins did not hear it, expressing his aggravation; it was new and a little uncomfortable to receive Harry's trust. He felt the werewolf, or even the Headmaster would have been a more prudent choice than his own, twisted self. But even as he thought it, he knew that was impossible; Potter would never be able to fully trust either of them. _They_ had had responsibilities to him and _they _had failed in that capacity. Both had left him with the neglectful and occasionally outright abusive Dursleys, had in one case told him nothing of his parents and in the other, failed to tell him that he even _knew_ his parents until the end of a year of teaching and friendship.

These were betrayals on a powerful, emotional level, which were then heavily compounded by failures in later years, notably, the poor handling of information in the last year, which could be laid at Albus' curly-toed-slippers in its entirety. Severus had not been pleased to learn that the Headmaster had shared the prophecy with Harry immediately after the death of his Godfather, either. They had been extremely lucky that he had not destroyed the Headmasters Tower, let alone the rest of his office. Lupin's poor behaviour had extended only to neglect which, though bad enough in itself, it was understandable, given Lupin's role in healing Black's mind during Harry's fourth year.

And then had come the Package. The catalyst for the loss of the most powerful Blood wards seen in Britain in over a century, and Wizardom's best kept secret. Careless, careless Lupin, too wrapped up in his own grief to handle more than the simple minded desire to finish something Black had started. No matter that Harry had been far from ready to face the memory of his Godfather, no matter Remus hadn't so much as sent him a letter.

Severus counted them lucky, again, that Harry had come out of the maelstrom slightly more in control, when he _could_ have broken and fled, right into the arms of Death Eaters.

A thick belch from the potion Severus was stirring (one clockwise, every third second, one figure of eight every seventh) indicated it was time to add the next ingredient and he did so with his free hand, protected by his dragon skin gloves from the caustic sap of the herb. Stepping back from his own thoughts for a moment, he wondered at how well he knew Harry Potter's mind, already. With another irritated shake of his head, he bent back over the cauldron and stirred vigorously anti-clockwise for exactly seventeen seconds.

And what a _mess_ that mind was...

He realised that while he had reasoned out why Harry did not trust Lupin or Albus, it remained to be explained _why_ he, Severus Snape, _was_ trusted. It was no doubt true, but the certainty of Harry's conviction rivalled Albus', it was... excessive for that to be granted to a man who had made Harry's life miserable, when they came into contact. Severus could not claim full blame for that, circumstances had dictated his initial behaviour, but acting the part had bled into his personal feelings once the arrogant, Potter attitude had responded to his sneers. He continued to berate himself for that, had he not been so blind he could have aided Harry while he was still a boy, shielded him from the long term effects of his family's neglect. But no, Harry would always be small and delicate now; it would do no good for Snape to harbour guilt over things not done.

His mind once again returned to that recollection of Harry cleaving to his mind, trusting him with his sanity...

Perhaps... he was not the only one effected by the closeness of that manner of rescue... if he recalled correctly, the wind, that fission of mistrust had disappeared after Severus had promised to protect Harry, not 'with my life' or 'to the best of my ability', simply the promise in the absence of any qualifiers. He knew that it was not possible to lie directly to another mind, but did Harry? Had he felt the ring of truth in that statement? Had that allowed him to bestow his trust upon the snarky, vicious bat of the dungeons?

A sharp tap on the side of the cauldron sent a shockwave through the potion, turning it the correct shade of light blue and setting it to smoke correctly. He sat back on his stool and drew his wand, casting the necessary stasis charm on the potion to preserve it until Lupin arrived to take it the following day.

He was aware that the twins were nearly finished with their dissection and harvesting of the unfortunate Kappa, slathering, murderous beast that it was, and moved to their bench to observe and note down the quantities he now had of each rare ingredient.

He mentally cursed Potter for being so incredibly distracting.


	7. Chapter 7: The Order

_AN: These three chapters, six, seven and eight, DEFY BEING SPLIT UP! so I'm posting them on sequential days. That means there will be another one tommorow! Check back. _

* * *

Chapter Seven: The Order.

Harry dreamed, eventually, and lost his Occlumency; he woke up crying softly, curled around the package from Padfoot and Moony. He couldn't remember what he had dreamed about, but it had a different flavour to his nightmares and he was left with a lingering sense of loss and warmth. At least he was rested, he thought as he fumbled with the string holding the package together. When the knot came undone, so did the sticking charms on the paper and it came away easily.

He'd thought it was probably a book and was proven right when his fingers found pages in between the soft knapped leather covers. He sat up and reached for his glasses so he could read the title without pressing his nose to the leather; Freedom: a Guide to the Animagus Transformation.

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he curled around the book, screwing his eyes closed in pain for a moment, before being drawn to look again. Underneath the title were the words;

_"This is part of your inheritance, pup. Happy birthday."_ stamped into the soft leather with something like a soldering iron, some kind of spell, Harry thought. He ran his fingers over the little paw print underneath the words with a kind of reverence then forced himself to uncurl enough to open the book, looking by chance at the first, usually blank, page. Sirius and Moony's handwriting scrawled along the top and bottom while a photo filled the middle.

_"This is the only photo of us in our Animagus forms, took some finding, I'll tell you! We'd hidden it, since we were un-registered."_ That had to be Sirius; his handwriting was sloppy and slightly uncoordinated. The photo was of Padfoot and Prongs, bouncing happily in what looked like summer sun. Prongs kept ducking his head and threatening Padfoot with his horns, while Padfoot leapt and teased him. There was a little burnt spot in one corner, where he thought Wormtail had probably been obliterated from the image. Harry didn't bother restraining his tears; Prongs looked exactly like his Patronus version, right down to the darker streaks running from his eyes to just above his ears. Patronus Prongs had more tines on his horns though, had his dad gotten more as he'd grown?

_"This was summer of sixth year, at James's house, I took the photo. Padfoot couldn't stop teasing your dad by licking his nose; it made him sneeze." _

Remus' writing went on a bit after that but Harry couldn't read any more; he curled up on his side, pulled his glasses off and brought the book to his chest again. He lay there for a long time, just thinking and grieving. There was a weird combination of warmth and loss sitting in his chest; having the book was like reclaiming some of what he'd lost in the DoM, but... it also reminded him that Padfoot would never bound in and wake him up again, or send him helpful little notes like he had in fourth year.

He was glad he'd opened this particular birthday present early; he needed _time_ to get used to this. He didn't know whether he'd break down every time he read it, right then, it felt like he would, but he wouldn't let that stop him. For now, he'd keep it for himself; he didn't think he could handle someone else reading the notes from his Godfather. He slowly opened the cover again to have another look at the photo. Even slightly blurry it made his chest feel strange, big and hollow all at once. By squinting, he read the rest of Moony's note:

_"We asked Professor McGonagall if she'd help you out, while you're at school, so it can be both secret _and_ legal. We've made plenty of notations of things to help you out, too."_

The writing changed then, like it was written with a different quill;

_"Harry, I finished this off, since it wasn't quite done when"_ there was a scribble and a small blot, Harry sympathised; he didn't think he could write that either. A fresh set of tears blurred his vision and he nuzzled his pillow to wipe them away.

_"He was a genius at transfiguration, read his notes carefully though; his handwriting was appalling."_

It was signed 'Moony', and was cramped, scrunched around the paw print Sirius used in lieu of his name.

Harry lay and watched the photo cycle through until he had every movement, every detail, memorised. In a daze, he turned to the first page proper of the book, the contents, and smiled wetly at the scribbles in the margin. They _were_ hard to read.

He must have been lying there for a long time because when he heard a knock on the door and moved to sit up, he felt stiff and lethargic. He tucked the book into the bedside cabinet and retrieved his glasses.

"Come in," He said, loudly enough to travel through the door, as he stood up to get a drink. When he emerged from the bathroom with his glass of water he saw Ron standing awkwardly in front of the closed door. "Hey Ron, you alright?" He asked with a piercing look.

Ron shuffled his feet and looked away, looking all of a sudden, very young, despite his height, and broad Keeper's shoulders. "Yeah, I wanted to apologise... so... yeah, I'm sorry for ragging on you about the Slytherins and for not noticing anything and for having the emotional range of a teaspoon."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, hearing Hermione in his words. "Thanks Ron, I appreciate it. Do you get it now, though?" he said, turning more serious as he settled himself against the headboard. Ron wondered over and hovered while he thought about the question, until Harry told him to 'sit down and stop behaving like a first year'.

"Yeah, I reckon I do... I mean, they can't all be evil. And... George explained a bit, too, said that they'd seen the same thing, on the Map." He sat down at the foot of Harry's bed, picking at a tassel on the bed spread.

"I know it's hard to realise; just keep an eye out when we get back and you'll see for yourself." He said gentling his voice and taking another drink of his water; he had a headache from his crying jag.

"How about you, Harry? You look like shit." Ron said in his usual, no-nonsense tone.

"Wow, you're so _nice_. Nah, I'm ok. I shouldn't have got up today, really. I did quite a bit of accidental magic yesterday." He shrugged as if to say 'no big deal', even though he knew Ron wouldn't buy it. He got a snort of disbelief for his trouble,

"Dad said you dropped half the ceiling on the Telee thing, and _seriously?_ Accidental _Herbology_? Not really a 'bit', mate." He punctuated his sentence with a poke to Harry's foot.

"Oi, that tickles...Leave off." He muttered, polishing off the glass and putting it on the bedside table. "Anyway, what time is it? Has anyone from the Order turned up?" He shifted his feet away from Ron and tossed a pillow at him. Ron snatched it out of the air like a Quaffle and hugged it to his chest.

"Nearly dinner; Mum let you miss afternoon tea when Dobby said you were asleep. Dad's here, got off work about an hour ago, Snape, obviously. Um... I think I saw Shacklebolt and Tonks too." It was Ron's turn to shrug; he'd been finishing off the bathroom (which was no longer so horrifying as to require capitalization in his head,) and hadn't been in a position to keep close track.

"No Moony?" Harry asked, unsure about which answer he'd prefer.

"Nah, I think the full moon is coming up." Harry realised he was relieved... which felt a bit cruel, but he wasn't ready to face _that_ in public yet. Once he had started reading the Book, had some more time to get used to being reminded about Sirius all the time... Maybe by his birthday, after the full moon, he'd be ready to actually speak to the man.

"Damn! I meant to talk to your mum this morning but I forgot; it's Dobby's birthday tomorrow!" He scrubbed a hand through his hair to push it out of his face and stood up, going to his wardrobe for some robes that would cover up the fact he was wearing pyjamas; he didn't feel like getting dressed, just to go back to 'book work and sitting down activities only' after dinner. "Maybe I can talk to her while Dobby's busy with dinner." He muttered as he pulled on a long under robe in a kind of mahogany colour made out of fine fabric that could have been cotton or wool, Harry wasn't paying attention. It was warm enough, anyway, and had a high enough collar that it covered his pyjamas. He tipped his chin up to do the buttons and heard Ron mutter from behind him,

"You need a haircut, mate," and pull said hair from out of his collar.

"What? Don't be dim, Ron, I've never had a haircut in my life. Not one that's stuck anyway. That lot's got a mind of its own." He said as he finished the buttons and reached around to feel the back on his head. To his astonishment, it _was_ longer than usual, by about an inch. It wasn't much but it was enough that it touched the back of his neck and got trapped under his collar.

"You're right... that's just weird." He said, dismissing it and pulling at the robe so it draped over his shoulders comfortably, the sleeves dropping down over his wrists into the drape that Hogwarts students kept their wands in, along with the odd chocolate frog and homework scroll.

"Hey Harry,"

"Yeah Ron." He replied, looking up at his friend, who was still wearing the jeans and a t-shirt he'd been cleaning in.

"You look like a teacher." Ron said, looking him up and down "'Cept for the feet."

Harry glanced down, realising he wasn't wearing any socks, let alone shoes. "You saying I look old?"

"Naw, mate... you look like a wizard... an _Of-Age_ wizard." Ron looked slightly stunned. All Harry'd done was put robes on! It wasn't that much of a change was it? He glanced at himself in the mirror, he _did _look somehow... old. Like Professor Snape was old. Harry kept it to himself, but he thought that is was the look on his face that caused it, not something as simple as robes. Maybe that had made Ron _look_, but... a lot had changed since his History of Magic exam.

"Well good then. It's about time people worked out that I'm not a kid anymore." At first, he'd just wanted to avoid taking his PJ's off, they were warm and comfortable, but he could see the benefits of looking well turned out, looking mature. He guessed he wouldn't be able to wear his trainers though...

"Hey Ron, dig out my boots, would you? Let's finish off the image." He said as he went for some socks. Dobby had let himself have a bit of fun with socks, it would seem... Harry picked out a pair that wouldn't melt his eyeballs while he put them on.

"Here. First the twins, now you. What's so great about Dragon hide, anyway?" Ron held the boots out to him, still in their box. Harry took them and dumped them out, tissue paper and all, on the bed.

"Curse resistant, mate. You won't see me dancing my feet off." He muttered, even as he thought about getting Ron a pair, to protect him against tripping hexes and Tarantallegra. Hermione too. Neville had been almost crippled by the curse at the Battle under the Ministry. Once shod, he stood up and flexed his feet. The boots came up over his ankles, which were the target of a lot of foot-related spells, and hugged his feet like a glove once the sizing charm was done.

"Huh... pretty handy. Never mind that though; I'm hungry, so if you're done?" Ron gestured to the door. Harry thought he might have made Ron feel awkward, he'd always had a bit of a weakness about Harry's money, but then again, maybe he was just hungry.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go, before your stomach stages a coup." Harry grinned and slipped his wand into his sleeve before following a muttering Ron out of the room.

They met Mad Eye on the ground floor, sneaking past the portrait of Sirius' mother. The Muffling charm was gone, he noticed, perhaps it had been cast specially for the rescue operation. Harry noted that the hall looked much cleaner, brighter, than he had ever seen it before and it reminded him to call Kreacher before he went back to bed, or maybe have Dobby report on the older elf. Once on the stairs to the basement kitchen, Moody spoke;

"Nice boots, Potter." No greeting, but Harry thought that was rather in character for the terse, retired, Auror. He did tap his wooden leg with his staff though, Harry wondered if that meant he wouldn't have lost his leg if he'd been wearing Dragon hide boots.

"Thanks, Sir. Dobby knows what he's on about." They arrived at the kitchen as Moody was replying,

"Aye, cleaver little beasts. Ye've done something about that bloody Kreacher?" Harry paled and his eyes hardened a little at the reminder of the elf's involvement in the events of the past year but he nodded any way.

"I have, he's forbidden from speaking with anyone outside of the Fidelus." Harry replied as he looked around the room, distracting himself from unhelpful thoughts. The twins, Snape, Ginny, Kingsley Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Tonks, all either sat or stood around the table. Ron went to sit with his sister and the young Auror, who were talking about Auror training. Moody stumped towards the head of the table after giving Harry an approving nod, where a seat was open two chairs down from the head. Dobby appeared and unobtrusively indicated that he should sit at the head of the table again. He glanced over at Ron but it looked like people had ordered themselves roughly by status; he was all the way at the bottom of the table, with Ginny, though Tonks seemed to be batting below her ability by choosing to sit with them, below the twins.

Harry slipped into his chair, the chair to his left had a tartan hat perched on the back so he assumed McGonagall would be sitting there, Kingsley, Moody and a twin (George?) occupied the next three seats on that side, then Tonks, followed by Ginny.

Snape sat to Harry's right, where Mrs Weasley had at lunch, with an empty chair on his other side, followed by the other twin (Fred, Harry thought), then Mrs Weasley, then Tonks.

If he was right about the status thing, the arrangement put Snape pretty high up, he mused. Mr Weasley arrived then, sitting in the empty seat between Snape and (probably) Fred, which left the twins sandwiched between their parents on one side and two Aurors on the other. Probably a good idea. Harry thought that Mrs Weasley probably belonged next to her husband but had deferred to separate her children out a little.

Once Harry was sat down, everyone left standing behind their chairs joined him and McGonagall came back to her seat from where she had been talking to Mrs Weasley. Was that some kind of etiquette Harry had never come across? He was glad he had Dobby around; otherwise he would have sat in the spare seat opposite Ginny and, in effect, deferred any authority he might have to McGonagall, and sod whatever clothes he was wearing.

Thinking about the House tables at Hogwarts, the first years always sat nearest the Teachers and seventh years nearest the doors, did that mean that the 'head' of the table was the end away from the teachers? It was less than pointless to think about it now though, what with dinner conversation starting up.

"Severus, I understand you have moved out of Spinners End?" McGonagall asked as Dobby was passing around the platter of roast beef. Harry tuned in as he took two slices for himself, then a third when Snape glared at him.

"Indeed, it is not safe there any longer. Contention in the Inner Circle rises with every passing 'mission' failure. As the spy in Hogwarts, it is not unusual for blame to be laid at my feet." Snape said it so _casually_, when Harry knew that 'blame' was a synonym for repeated doses of the cruciatus curse. Dobby offered McGonagall and Snape the platter next and they each helped themselves. "The wards are set to alert me to an arrival so I may return to deal with them at my leisure."

"Mr Potter has kindly allowed me use of a room and lab, here." Well didn't that make him sound so very gracious? Snape's voice was devoid of sneer for once, though he didn't look happy either; neutrality covered his face like a mask. Harry leaned back slightly in his seat, as Dobby dished out the trimmings. McGonagall was giving him an approving glance;

"Honestly, Professor, I didn't do anything. This is HQ; of course Order members can use it." He said looking down at his plate as the gravy boat poured itself over his meat and filled his Yorkshire puddings with little lakes. He wasn't blushing, but he did feel like he might, in a minute.

"Never the less, Harry, it is appropriate that we express our thanks to our host." McGonagall said with a stern smile as Dobby served her Yorkshire puddings and roast potatoes.

He glanced over at Snape but there was no help there; he was pouring himself a glass of steaming mulled cider and not looking at Harry.

"Ok, thanks, Professor. And you're welcome." He said, still feeling slightly adrift and not entirely sure whether he was addressing Professor Snape or the Order as a whole. Fortunately, the conversation moved on swiftly after that.

"The Kappa in the first floor bathroom has been dispatched; I believe the place is now fit for human habitation." Snape commented. Fred chipped in soon after:

"The Doxies are gone too; it's as clean as a whistle in there." George followed up with;

"Madam Hooch's, even." The pair laughed, as did Ron. Ginny broke down into chuckles but managed to restrain herself. Mrs Weasley started berating them for their poor manners; it was all comfortably familiar and Harry relaxed a bit. Admittedly, having his Head of House and Potions Master sitting on either side of him was still disconcerting, but he could let himself have a little slack; McGonagall was trying to hide a smirk behind her napkin.

"I trust you have found use for the creature, Severus?" She commented, sobering.

"Indeed, I will be making an attempt at Felix Felicis once the Infirmary is fully re-stocked." Harry wished for a second that Hermione was there to explain what the potion did but immediately felt bad about it; he could and would look it up under his own steam, later. McGonagall looked impressed, anyway.

"Well, well. Let's hope it is fair-weather brewing then." As she spoke, Harry glanced down the table at Ron and Ginny to make sure everyone had been served. They had, so Harry picked up his cutlery and began to eat. It was just habit and conscientiousness that made him wait until everyone had food, but it seemed to be the right thing to do. Once he'd started eating, everyone else joined in and conversation became more casual; all 'pass the gravy' and 'is there any mint sauce'.

The food was delicious, he decided as he tucked in, the gravy was definitely Dobby's work and he'd recognise Mrs Weasley's Yorkshire's anywhere. The beef was tender and rich with just the right amount of pepper for Harry's taste. He wondered how Dobby was keeping the pantry stocked, as he speared a carrot and slathered it in gravy, he'd have to ask later and make sure they didn't run out of anything.

The three Aurors were talking about the Dementors, how they were thought to have dispersed across the country after the spring break-out. Arthur Weasley brought up the rumour that ascribed the unnatural mist to the Dark creatures, based on a theory about how they bred; it made Harry's skin crawl.

Professors McGonagall and Snape were having an interesting conversation about the Hogwarts wards, which proved less disturbing and more prudent to listen to. For a while he was content to sit and just listen, steadily packing away as much food as he could handle and sipping his cider very slowly. When they mentioned the Anti-Apparition wards, Harry piped up;

"Professors, how far into the earth do the wards extend?" They paused, glanced at each other and looked faintly confused.

"I have never had reason to find out, Mr Potter," Said Snape, looking intrigued. "Why do you ask?"

Harry let go of a little tension; he had half expected to get his head bitten off by the snarky Potions Master, despite the change in their relationship. "Well, the Chamber of Secrets is a long way down, and given that the ground earths wards, is it possible that the Chamber is accessible by Apparition?"

Snape raised his eyebrows and looked almost impressed, "A cogent point, Mr Potter, I am unsure. Minerva?"

The transfiguration Professor took off her glasses and polished them, a gesture Harry knew meant that she needed time to think. "It is probable that the wards, as an integral part of the castle, do extend over the Chamber, as they extend to the ward stones in the Forest, but I cannot be certain; the Chamber is older than Apparition itself."

"Were there such a weakness in the school's fortifications, why would You-Know-Who have left it alone? We know he is aware of the Chamber." Arthur commented, sounding shaken, understandably.

"If it is the case that they do not, we may assume that he does not know of this weakness or does not believe it possible to launch an attack from there." Inserted Snape, "A fully fledged attack, even given the Headmasters protracted absence last year may be, as yet, beyond his means."

"We can hope. The exit is a little... awkward, too. The ward would be easy enough to test, anyway." Harry said, before taking a sip of his mulled cider, he'd been very careful so far, not to drink too much of it. "I can open the Chamber for you, or even provide a recording of the password."

"That's settled then, we'll test it when the school opens in August, I'm sure the Headmaster will be able to arrange a portkey." McGonagall stated, Snape nodded and the topic was closed. Harry felt is was a little abrupt, but was nonetheless pleased that his suggestion was taken seriously. The pair involved him in the conversation a little more after that, which revolved around the previously mentioned portkeys and preventing a reoccurrence of the end of Harry's Fourth year. It wasn't the easiest thing for Harry to talk about, but it _was_ important.

During a lull in the conversation, while Dobby was clearing away empty plates and people were contemplating their stomachs, Harry had an idea to ponder. Given the sacrifice he had asked Ron to make, giving up his convictions about Slytherins, he knew there were things he, Harry, could sacrifice that would do a lot to improve the school's security. By giving up sole use of the Map, the Order would know exactly what was going on in the school, whenever they wanted to. If he had done that in third year, when he first received it, Moody would have been freed much sooner. He hadn't trusted the teachers then though, and with good reason, so there was no helping it. Perhaps Moony could help them add places like the Room and the Chamber, he _was_ going to get the twins in touch with him anyway.

Once Dobby had served up pudding, a steamed treacle sponge with custard, Harry sent him up to get the Map out of his trunk, warning him that it was wrapped up in his Invisibility cloak. He was back in less than a moment and Harry tucked the parchment into his robe pocket for now. Snape raised an eyebrow at him and sipped his coffee but Harry wasn't ready to explain just yet so he sent the gesture back to sender, though he imagined that his own raised eyebrow wasn't nearly as well executed as Snape's. The man turned away and grumbled at him; it was almost good-natured, much to Harry's surprise and amusement.

The pudding was delicious, and he tucked in; foregoing conversation to savour it. Snape, who had declined the pudding altogether, held conversation with Arthur about the power vacuum left in the Ministry after Malfoy senior's arrest. He did occasionally glance back at him, Harry noticed, though he couldn't have guessed why. McGonagall was quieter; enjoying her own pudding with a rather lady-like decorum that made Harry's relaxed enjoyment look slovenly. He only needed to look down the table at Ron though, who was wolfing his way through his second portion already, to reassure himself that his decorum was just fine, thank-you-very-much.

Once he was done, he joined Snape in leaning comfortably back in his chair and sipping his drink slowly. Dobby must have charmed his goblet to remain warm because his mulled cider, still the same measure that he had started the meal with, was still the perfect temperature. Even Ron eventually ran out of space and sat back looking smug, by which time everyone else had finished. Harry noted that the real Mad Eye Moody wasn't as 'paranoid' as his replacement; he drank his cider happily from the goblet by his plate.

"Harry," Arthur addressed him, pulling him out of his comfortable postprandial daze, "I noticed the entrance hall is rather clean, you haven't been working Dobby too hard, have you?"

A small voice piped up from the kitchen area behind Harry; "Dobby _cannot_ be working too hard! Dobby is a Free Elf!"

Harry grinned and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You heard the man,"

"Elf!"

"Sorry, Dobby! That's Kreacher's work. Dobby and I had a chat about why Kreacher was able to lie, why he _wanted_ to lie, that day," He paused, to keep himself under control and get the choke out of his voice, "He told me a few things about how Kreacher wants and needs to be treated. We'll see how it goes."

Harry heard a distinctive Ron-mumble from down the table about how Hermione should listen to Dobby once in a while and it made him crack a smile, it was good being back.

"Right, speaking of elves, up you hop, Ron." Mrs Weasley said as she stood up. "You're on dishes with Dobby this time. Ginny, would you help me clear the table?"

"What, no job,"

"For little old us?" Chorused the twins, putting on wounded expressions,

"here, let us,"

"Help!" and help they did, the first wave of their wands had the crockery and silverware dancing and bopping its way towards Dobby and the sink. Harry just managed to nab his cider glass, and Snape his coffee mug, before they got away.

"Honestly, you two... you've done more than enough! Wands away!" She wagged a finger at them and they obeyed with large cherubic smiles.

Harry realised that this was the moment when an Order meeting would usually begin, often with Dumbledore Flooing in from who-knows-where as the children were removed from the room. That Mrs Weasley was holding onto her kids for the washing up meant that they weren't expecting Dumbledore any time soon. He wasn't entirely sure why the three Aurors were there, if a meeting was not expected, but all the same, their input would be useful.

He pulled out the Map and his wand, though he thought better of that quickly and put the polished holly away.

"If I could have a minute? I think you should all see this." He said as he unfolded the Map and laid it out flat on the table. This wasn't something he did often; usually it was enough to just unfold part of it, but he wanted to give the Order members a chance to see the potential. Ron and Ginny, recognising the Map, turned back to their washing up with Dobby, Harry thought he saw a slight frown from Ron, not disapproving, just... saddened.

"Fred, if you would?" Laid out like that, the Map was pretty big and George had no trouble reaching over to tap it with his wand. At least, Harry thought it was George.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." As usual, ink spread from the wand tip, speeding out in a delicate cobweb of lines that soon began to take recognisable shape. Harry sat back and observed as his teachers and the Aurors leaned close when they realised that it was a map. There was a small squeak from Tonks when she saw Dumbledore's marker come up. A quick glance showed Harry that the man was in his tower, presumably his office. Harry would need to take a closer look to be sure, but he thought the man was pacing; as the Twins had once told him, he did that a lot.

"This map shows, in real time, the locations and names of any persons in the bounds of the Hogwarts wards, as mapped in the years 1975 to 1978. It includes the secret passages and their passwords, as known to my father and the Marauders in that time period and updates as the staircases move. It is not fooled by Polyjuice, Invisibility cloaks, or Animagus forms and it will only work in response to the pass phrase. Incorrect activation and attempts to reveal the contents by other means result in insults, maintaining its cover as a prank object."

By the time he was finished, every face around the table was turned to him, some with their mouths open. Snape was the first to regain his senses and look back at the map. Harry could see him scanning, looking for anything he was unfamiliar with. Harry also saw the moment he found something;

"Here, here, and here, these Tunnels, they lead off school grounds?" He asked sharply.

"Yes. This is the Honeydukes tunnel, that one's blocked off by a cave-in and that one comes out in a cliff face, I don't know if the exit's covered by the wards. There are seven secret passages out of the castle in all, most are collapsed, but they all need warding, for Animagi in particular." Harry pulled the map closer to the head of the table and folded it so the shield on the front showed. "Look, 'Messirs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs'" Harry swallowed, glad that the Order members were not leaping on him with questions. He had no doubt they would eventually, but perhaps he could answer some of them on his own terms;

"Moony, Remus Lupin. Padfoot, Sirius Black. Prongs, my Father. And finally, Wormtail, the traitor Peter Pettigrew." Realization dawned on their faces and he pushed the map back towards them for further study.

The twins launched into a description of the seven secret passages, detailing what they knew of the collapses and passwords, which changed at set intervals, like new moons that land on a Friday. The others directed their questions at them, but Snape was looking at Harry with that piercing stare he got when he was sure Harry was not saying everything.

"I recognise this _piece of scrap parchment._ A Zonko's product indeed." He said with voice low enough to avoid disturbing the discussion, (currently talking about whether to ward the far ends of the tunnels, or the near side of the cave-in's), "The Marauders produced this while in school?"

Harry nodded, cradling his warm cider in his palms for comfort. "I didn't have a chance, really, to ask Sirius much about it, but he and Remus said they all worked together on it. There are things missing, obviously, like the Chamber and the Room of Requirement; I think it's because they never found them, though the Room might just be unplottable..."

"I dread to think how many times you have avoided me using it, on your night time wanderings." He sounded a little put out and ended his sentence with an irritated sip of coffee.

"Too many to count, sir. Sorry about that. It's not easy to sit still after... well, yeah." Harry fudged, not wanting to talk about nightmares in such an open space.

"I... no, I imagine it is not... we will speak about this in future, do you understand? It is far from safe to be wandering." He sounded very, very serious; which, Harry supposed, was justified, given how often the school had been infiltrated via the cursed DADA post or possessed objects.

"I understand." He mumbled; feeling almost as tired as he had before he'd had his afternoon nap. With his stomach pleasantly full it was very tempting to just close his eyes and lean back in the comfortable Head of House's chair. He resisted for now, re-joining the discussion;

"Wouldn't it be better if Mouldy Voldy spent weeks digging out a tunnel _then_ discovered that it was warded? It'd waste his time and manpower, we could even trap as many Death Eaters as he throws at them." Moody seemed to approve of that and proposed an Eavesdropping charm to listen for movement.

The discussion continued in that vein for a while, until the matter of why Voldemort hadn't used the tunnels already came up, that was one for Snape to answer, reiterating what he had said in regard to the Chamber;

"He is far from strong enough, in terms of number of people on the ground, to launch an overt assault on the school. Observe." He pulled the map towards himself a little and pointed to each teachers' office, the Headmasters office and the staff room. "Each of these rooms contains a Floo connection, the entire Auror Office would be in the school in minutes, unless it had already been deployed. The same would apply to an attack from the Chamber."

Kingsley and Moody agreed; pointing out that Hogwarts was a First Priority listed institution, next to St Mungo's and the Ministry itself, making it less than ten minutes between the alarm going up and reinforcements arriving, given that the alarm was taken seriously.

"Indeed, in order to take the school, even bypassing the wards using a tunnel, he would have to stage an attack on either the hospital or the Ministry to prevent the Auror's response. To do so would mean sacrificing a large proportion of his forces, without securing a definite win. We have some time before he amasses the necessary numbers to attempt such a push. Defence of the tunnels must concentrate more on the prevention of covert attack, particularly here and here." A niggling idea began to form in the back of Harry's mind, distracting him from Snape's talk of tactics.

"He was heavily preoccupied with the Prophecy since his Resurrection, and left Hogwarts to Umbridge, last year, but it is likely that his focus will shift back to the school over the next few months, recruitment will be-" Snape had grimaced in distaste as he said 'Umbridge' and Harry was amused to find that they shared their distaste for the woman. With that, though, what had been a niggle blossomed into a full blown idea.

"The Dementors." He muttered, loudly enough that he got everyone's attention. "Umbridge sent Dementors after me, summer of last year. If Umbridge was working, _is_ working for Voldemort," flinches all 'round, Harry wanted to tell them to grow up, but restrained himself, "Then he has had access to Dementors for almost a year!" He sat forwards, eyes blazing, "Azkaban... The escape in January wasn't, or shouldn't have been a surprise and... the Death Eaters caught at the Ministry, they're all in Azkaban, aren't they?"

There were nods and pale faces as people realised what Harry was getting at,

"They're not secure there, there are no wards against Dementors; all Voldemorthas to do is say 'please' and he _will_ have them freed. With his return openly acknowledged, there can't be much holding him back now." There were flinches all 'round at the name, _again_, but Harry let it go for now, the topic was too important to interrupt.

"I hope you realise... he doesn't need numbers to generate a distraction; all he needs is to order the Dementors to Diagon Alley. While the Aurors are occupied he'll walk into the prison and have his staunchest supports back." Harry found his chest tightening, though he did his best to keep his breathing even, before someone could notice.

Silence. All of a sudden, the twins 'Patronus in a Jar' was looking a whole lot more important.


	8. Chapter 8: Dark Words make Light Work

_AN: Here you go; a triple set. The next chapter will be a little longer in arriving, have 10, 000 words to proof read in the meanwhile!_

* * *

Chapter Eight: Dark Words make Light Work

"Kingsley, how many, what percentage of the public can cast the Patronus Charm?" McGonagall asked into the horrified silence.

"Possibly five percent, on a good day." The Auror looked like hell was showing behind his eyes.

"And how many Aurors?" she said, gripping her cup of tea tightly,

"Not enough. Nowhere near enough..." He trailed off desolately.

"Mr Potter," Snape asked with an intense look. "What percentage of Defence Association members can cast a Patronus?" you could have heard a penny drop, Ron and Ginny were standing near their father, looking very serious. Mrs Weasley had had to sit down and Dobby was standing very close to Harry's chair, still as a statue.

"Ev-" he croaked and started again, "Well, on a good day, all of us. Neville had trouble at first but eventually, he got it..."

"That's impossible..." Harry didn't know who said it, but there were mutterings of amazement up and down the table, apart from Snape, who sat stoically, as if he had expected the answer.

_"Expecto Patronum."_

_"Expecto Patronum."_

Two shimmering silver wildcats shot from the twin's wands and sat obediently on the kitchen table.

"Mine's a terrier... Jack Russell." Ron chimed in, having to clear his throat before he could speak, "'Mione's got an otter."

"A Horse, mines a horse. Luna's is a hare, Cho Chang's was a swan, and Seamus had a fox." Ginny sounded a bit better than Ron did and spoke with pride.

"Ernie had a Boar, eventually..." Ron finished with.

Harry felt it was time to speak up again; "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that it's motivation, not ability that's lacking most of the time... Once I convinced people that they should do it, they _could_. If everyone says that the Patronus is a hard charm then how many people are going to bother learning it? Especially when Dementors are supposedly under Ministry control. Frankly, if the run of bad Defence teachers we've had is anything to go by, then I don't think many people have even ever tried."

"The boy is correct, there is no evidence that learning the Charm is impossible for any Light Witch or Wizard, the only know factor to prevent its casting is injury to the soul; cold blooded murder." Snape's voice was clinical but it still made Harry shudder; he knew who and what the man was talking about, monsters like Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy... Voldemort.

"Half, _half_, my Aurors don't know it." Shacklebolt looked deeply disturbed and Harry could tell that that statistic would change, and quickly. He took a deep drink of his cider before his next announcement, if this carried on, he'd shock his poor teachers into next week.

"I'll be teaching anyone who'll learn, next year. I think anyone from third year above has a chance at it, and some of the younger ones too. That's a lot of students, but it isn't a Dementor attack on _Hogwarts_ we should be worried about. Fred, George, repeat what you suggested to me this morning." He felt like a conductor, bringing up topics, directing the conversation... it was tiring and he leaned back as the twins started speaking.

Their idea was met with enthusiasm as everyone offered their Patronus to help; it picked them up out of the depressive miasma they had been cultivating and doom laden looks on their faces lifted, Harry was relieved to see. Shacklebolt left soon after, Flooing straight back to the DMLE to 'make arraignments', and that started a bit of an exodus as McGonagall left to owl Dumbledore about the Map, though she left it with Harry for now. Tonks said that she had to get home to see her mum, Harry suspected that she was going to ask her whether she could cast a Patronus or not, and Moody left just after, with a silent tip of his hat to Harry. That left the Weasley's and Snape sitting absorbed in their thoughts while Harry resisted the urge to go to sleep.

"Blood hell..." Ron summed it up nicely, Harry thought, grinning lopsidedly.

"Yeah." He thought it telling that Mrs Weasley didn't tell her youngest son off for language but he also thought that she'd never disapprove of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes again either. If Order meetings were anything like this informal little dinner... well, he wasn't sure if he wanted to go anywhere _near_ one. One last thing to do before he went back to bed though;

"Dobby, would you take this back upstairs, please? Then have a look 'round and see what Kreacher's gotten up to?" He handed the little elf the Map and gave him what he hoped was a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. Dobby nodded and seemed a little reassured to have something to do, popping off quietly.

As if his quiet words had broken the tension, Mrs Weasley began to herd her children; she seemed to forget that Fred and George had moved in above their shop already. Harry caught her on her way past;

"Mrs Weasley, can I ask a favour?" He said, looking up with a comforting smile for her so she wouldn't think that this was something war related.

"Of course, dear! Ask away." She smiled back and patted him on the shoulder.

"It's Dobby's birthday, tomorrow, I'd like to get him a present but I obviously haven't had the chance yet..." She looked surprised at first, then thoughtful,

"Gosh! Well, I've never heard of giving an elf a birthday gift! I think it's about time we started; he does so love his Christmas present... What were you thinking of, dear?" He looked down at the table with its occasional water mark and thought about it,

"He's a bit like Dumbledore; he really likes crazy colours, the more the better. And socks are his favourite."

"Oh, I have just the thing." She looked very thoroughly cheered up. "I'll send it over with Pigwidgeon. Would you like me to wrap it?"

"That'd be great Mrs Weasley, you're a life saver, and I'll pay you back tomorrow." He gave her another warm smile and she nodded to herself.

"You're very kind Harry, now we must be getting off! You look like you could do with some more sleep." She ruffled his hair affectionately, though it couldn't have made it any messier than it already was. He was glad that she'd refrained during the meal, but it was a nice gesture anyway, one he'd missed over the year.

"Yeah, I think I'll head back to bed once I've checked up on Kreacher..." He gave a wry grin and a shrug, "What can I say, that bathroom was really, _really_ disgusting." That garnered amused shudders from all the Weasley children in the room. "'night you lot,"

"'Night mate, see you in the morning." Ron patted him on the shoulder on his way past,

Ginny gave him one of those awkward sitting-down hugs, "Good night, Harry. Sleep well."

They both disappeared into the Floo in flashes of green. The twins were being stubborn by insisting that they had to stay at their flat for 'reasons of product and profit', while Mrs Weasley wanted them to stay at the Burrow. Mr Weasley talked Mrs Weasley down eventually, getting her to leave the twins well enough alone. Harry got a half hug and a kiss on the cheek from her before she would leave. Mr Weasley settled for a hand shake, fortunately.

The twins wanted to tell him, without their mother present, that they were putting together a box of 'products' that had been tested as reliable, but weren't on the market yet, for Harry to have a look at. He agreed quickly and told the twins that they needn't wait for their mother or an Order meeting to come and visit.

Finally, _finally, _the room was quiet again. Not the shocked-and-terrified-oh-god-Voldemort-has-Dementors silence, either. A glance at the clock above the fire told Harry that it was only half nine but it felt like it had been another very long day.

"Up, Mr Potter, carrying you to your bed twice in as many days is twice too many." Harry had forgotten that Snape was still around, well... sort of; he'd not expected him to care what Harry did enough to say anything.

"Uh, right... thanks for that, by the way." He looked up as Snape stood; knocking back the last of what Harry thought was his second cup of coffee. He just grunted in reply and pushed Harry's chair back with a foot. "Right, yeah, I'm getting up..." Harry said as if convincing himself of this fact.

He used the table as leverage and hauled himself upright, the solid wood kept him steady while he got his balance. "Sir, I meant to talk to you today, but there hasn't been a chance... Would you join me in the drawing room?"

That got him a raised eyebrow and perhaps a touch of a sneer, but the man nodded brusquely after a moment. "For as long as I believe you can stay awake, understand?"

Harry nodded; he hoped that the trip upstairs would wake him up a bit but he had no illusions that almost a month of insomnia, followed by some serious accidental magic had done a number on him. His magic reserves felt ok, low but not so empty that it hurt, he thought, as he made his way up the kitchen stairs in front of his Professor, but his limbs and mind were just_ tired_. That would teach him to use an under-fed, under slept body to channel magic. He half wanted to ask for more Dreamless Sleep but he knew he would be pushing it; it contained Poppy, and wasn't something he wanted to get addicted to.

Kreacher popped into the entrance hall as they made their way up to the first floor. Harry watched over the banister for a moment as he polished the much-abused Troll umbrella stand. He was clean and was wearing his new pillowcase, and... was it Harry's imagination, or was he standing up a little straighter? Less arthritically? Dobby was waiting on the landing for them, presumably with his report about the indentured elf's activities, and he followed them into the drawing room.

Dobby lit the fire as Harry took one of the sofas and Snape settled in an armchair. Harry thought the room was cleaner that last time he'd seen it but there was no way of telling whose work it was until he got Dobby's report. He thought it best not to keep Snape waiting though,

"Would you like some more coffee, Professor? Tea?" He asked politely. It seemed to him that Snape was making an effort to maintain civility, he felt it only right that he do the same.

"No, thank you." He fell silent and crossed his ankles, lacing his fingers in front of his face with his elbows on the chairs arm rests. Harry felt like a specimen as those dark eyes studied him, it made him nervous and tightened his chest.

"Right, sorry. Um, Dobby, could I have some hot chocolate, please?" He requested so he would have something to hold on to, his hands didn't want to stay still.

"Mr Potter, when you indicated you had something of worth to say, I assumed that you _had something of worth to say_." Snape ground out, tired of Harry's teenage fumbling and wondering if the boys new-found maturity had been used up over the course of a single dinner.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling himself. "I want to apologise for looking in your Pensive, sir." He drew in another slightly shaky breath; there was no telling how Snape would respond; as much as he trusted the man not to hurt him, to be on his side, long years of being on the receiving end of a vitriol of such cutting nature had left a mark not so easily erased.

He wasn't looking at Snape, he was looking down at his hands in shame, but if he _had_ he would have seen the flash of pain and anger that escaped the man's control for a bare second. Snape did not respond; he had nothing to say. In the space of a day, Harry Potter had changed his perceptions of the boy and what he once would have condemned as a lie or a ruse, he could no longer dismiss. He could not accept so easily either, however, and so remained silent. His head tipped slightly and his hair slipped forwards to conceal his face, in case his mask slipped again.

The silence was difficult for Harry, he wished that this was Ron, who would answer quickly and forgive easily, but it wasn't and he realized that he was being given a chance to explain. It was more than he had been expecting.

"So... I'm sorry. I regret doing it, I regret invading your privacy and I regret that I didn't even pause to think about what I was doing." He paused again as a cup of cocoa appeared on the table and picked it up, cradling it carefully. "And... and I'm sorry that I brought my own issues into our lessons."

Snape was having trouble concealing his surprise. It was immediately apparent that Harry had thought about this, and at length. Coupled with the fact, which Severus knew better than anyone, that Harry could not lie to him, he was forced to accept Harry's words as honest. He was not a forgiving man; Dumbledore had been receiving the cold shoulder from him for six months by that point, but Harry's words were compelling... His final sentence conjured questions, however; ones that required answers before Snape even considered accepting;

"You own issues. Explain." He was aware that his voice was gruff but he was surprised by the flinch Harry had to suppress. The restraint of the reaction was obvious in the way his body shuddered and twitched.

"Um... I thought Dumbledore was avoiding me, deliberately concealing information from me that could save peoples' lives. After Mr Weasley was hurt, I _knew_ I was right. My dreams were true, real visions, and I knew it. I kept coming back to the fact that Voldemort was after something behind that door, but Dumbledore wouldn't tell me anything, wouldn't look me in the eye. That guard duty was a complete farce; if I hadn't been piggy-backing on Voldemort's mind at the time, Mr Weasley _would have died_." Harry's hands were starting to shake and he could feel his magic surging in the middle of his chest; Dumbledore had a lot to answer for and it generated a lot of anger.

"Breathe, Mr Potter, and get to the point." Snape's voice was back to that dark velvet, deep and steady. Harry even detected a hint of curiosity in there. He did as he was told, accompanying it with a long sip of the calming, elf made hot chocolate.

"I was desperate for information by the time you left me with that Pensive, sir, all I could think of was that you were hiding things from me, the same way as Dumbledore. I didn't think that... that you might be protecting yourself, and me, from, from..." He choked, unable to continue. Learning that has father and godfather were utter bastards was one of the things he shied away from, that made up the maelstrom that he had to hide from every night, just to be able to sleep. "From..."

"Indeed, Mr Potter..." Harry stopped trying to force the words out and hunched down around his cocoa instead. He didn't want to look up, just in case Snape's expression told him what he knew he was about to hear; condemnation, recrimination and scathing insult.

"Very well. You are forgiven." Harry's head snapped up, looking Snape in the face for the first time in some time and looking for some sign of deception; he found none. The man was leaning forwards, his elbows on his knees, "You are correct that I did not want to relive that memory, I had not however, contemplated how it would affect you." While his mask didn't fall, there was intensity to the Potions Master that made Harry pay close attention. "I had only recently discovered the nature of your home life, I had not yet reconciled that with the insolent, arrogant brat I had known and taught for four and a half years. I did not believe you to be capable of seeing either your Father or Godfather in a negative light, leaving you no other option but to perceive me as the rest of the students do and as the Marauders did. I believed that my worst memory would be spread wide over the school, within hours." There was a pause and Snape sat back again, massaging his temple with one hand and letting the other drape limply over the arm rest. "I am obviously aware of my mistake." He met Harry's eyes with that piercing black gaze; driving his point home.

Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out. He shut it again, realising how foolish he must look, but the look of pain remained on his face. Severus sighed; the boy remained so fragile, for someone so strong. Time was all he could give, now, so he waited.

Harry appreciated the moment's quiet, using it to work out what was important and what could be saved for later, and sipped more of his cocoa to help fight off the stress of the situation. "I wasn't trying to be arrogant... I didn't think I was better than _anyone_, I never have." He said in a very small voice, he wasn't fishing for apologies, just trying to explain, but he knew how it would sound.

"You did not trust us; you had little reason to, myself more than any other. Arrogance and distrust look much the same on a child's face and I highly doubt the Dursleys ever gave you reason to _respect_ rather than merely obey their rules." Severus admitted, reassuring Harry that he understood. "After your first year, when you were rewarded for entering an area from which you were specifically banned, for _risking your life_, it is no surprise that the attitude remained."

Harry drank the last of his cocoa, feeling tired again and wondering if this conversation would have been better left for another day; he still had questions, things he wanted to say, but not much energy left. He felt reassured, more settled in this truce they had begun, but there remained misunderstandings, things Harry felt the need to apologise for. His magic was aggitated with the strength and confliction of his emotions, but he didn't have the resources to find the right words any more.

Severus was aware of this; Harry's face was as easy to read as ever, and he could tell that the teenager was nearing the end of his strength. His Healer training was already berating him for allowing this conversation to go on as long as it had. He stood, fishing out his pocket watch as he did so. The ornate silver cover popped open silently and the flash caught Harry's attention; he glanced up with an enquiring look, acknowledging that the conversation was over for now.

He followed Snape in standing, trying to remain steady on his feet, and asked for the time quietly.

"Past the tenth hour, and high time you were in bed, you accursed little insomniac." Snape muttered without venom as Harry set his mug down on the tray it had arrived on. The insult was almost comfortingly familiar after the past hour or so of civil conversation. "Come." Snape barked, making Harry start and realise that he had been staring into the middle distance again.

"Yes, sir." He said with an apologetic smile, following him out the door and up stairs. Harry tried repeatedly to suppress a yawn, failing as he reached the door to his bedroom.

"Sleep, Mr Potter. If this tiredness persists tomorrow, I will get you a potion," He didn't specify which one, but Harry didn't mind, he was too sleepy, "But for now, sleep is the best treatment, make the most of your tiredness."

Harry supposed that was as close to 'good night' as he was going to get, "Thanks, Professor. I'll see you in the morning." Snape grunted and turned towards his own room. Harry smiled and shook his head as he retreated.

Once his bedroom door was firmly closed, he summoned Dobby, listened to a brief report then sent him to bed, telling him to take the day off tomorrow, for his birthday.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

Harry slept, if not well then adequately. He occluded before dropping off and managed to remain asleep until he was finally chased awake by a nightmare at 'Six forty three! Go back to sleep'. He resisted the urge to throw the Snitch clock at a wall and hauled himself out of bed. His heart was racing and his skin sweaty so there was no chance he was going to lie in bed, uncomfortable, when he knew there would be no more sleep in it for him.

The sun was just peaking up over the horizon when he opened the curtains but the smoggy mist destroyed any aesthetic appeal it might have had; all Harry could think of was Dementors when he saw mist, these days. The rumours that they had begun breeding had been a topic of conversation over dinner the night before and had severely disquieted him. He brightened a little when he saw Pig taking off from a telegraph pole in the distance, accompanied by Hedwig, and tugged the sash window open to let them in. Hedwig landed on his outstretched arm and accepted affectionate feather ruffles before heading to the perch Mrs Weasley had put on his desk. Pig on the other hand was whizzing obnoxiously around his head. In no mood for such antics, he reached out as if the owl was a snitch and caught him neatly around the middle. He still chattered incessantly, but at least Harry could get Dobby's gift off his leg. His duty done, the hyperactive little headache joined Hedwig for a drink. She was somewhat unhappy at this; hissing, raising her shoulders and spreading her wings slightly to intimidate the smaller bird. It didn't work very well, but Harry managed to shoo Pig out of the window and soothe Hedwig's ruffled feathers.

He retreated into the bathroom for his glorious morning shower once his owl was settled; turning the shower to 'pleasantly cool' at first to get rid of the haze and unpleasant warmth of his nightmare. He knew he must thrash; he often woke up slightly sore, hot and a little sweaty. On really bad days he woke up screaming with his arm covered in scratches from trying to draw a wand that was not there. He had managed to avoid that for a while... maybe it was the Occlumency, he didn't know.

He slowly dialled the water up to his favourite hot steam and luxuriated in it for a while, letting his thoughts drift. Thinking on what Snape had said about Occlumency, Harry settled more surely into his decision to ask for more training from him. It was his only option if he wanted to take advantage of his visions, and be able to trust them. It would mean dealing with his nightmares, however... perhaps he could lock them away without preventing normal dreaming, but no, he thought, Snape had been clear that the dreaming mind was unable to maintain any sort of Occlumency. He shuddered at the prospect.

He picked up his soap and got cleaned up, running a soapy flannel all over his skin and through his hair. The cinnamon smell of it set Harry to thinking of apple pie and cinnamon buns and he knew what he wanted to do with his day, though he might have to settle for making sponge cake, for Dobby._ After _he'd done some studying, he reminded himself. It may be easier here, to find a distraction, but that was no excuse to give up on his decision to work harder; after all, he'd need the skills to complete the Animagus Transformation. He'd been surprised to find out that there was a potion involved, as he had glanced over the introductory chapter in bed the day before, but since he'd already decided to work on his Potions skills, it wasn't so much of an imposition.

Perhaps Snape would let him practice a little in the lab.

He heard an out of place thump as he was drying off, coming from the wall that adjoined the next room. It sounded like someone hitting or kicking the wall with a tough leather boot, but there wasn't supposed to be anyone in that room. He dressed quickly, in slacks and one of his soft t-shirts and went to find out what was making the ruckus.

Once out in the corridor he headed right, away from Snape's room and towards the stairs. The next door down from his was the Mistress' Bedroom; Harry was faintly disquieted by this admission of forced marriages and adultery. He knocked quietly on the door, listening carefully for any response. He needn't have bothered; the reply was loud, immediate and right next to his ear.

The screech was deep-throated, insistent and rather familiar. There was scratching and scrabbling at the door, followed by insistent foot-stamping.

"Buckbeak!" Harry smiled softly as he threw the latch on the door and let it swing open as he took a step back. A large gray head complete with wicked gunmetal gray beak and large amber eyes emerged, butting the door out of the way. The Hippogriff's crest was upright and his eyes bright; Harry felt very honoured that the creature was so pleased to see him, but he still looked down at his front feet and bowed. He was fairly sure Buckbeak would accept quickly, but there was always the possibility that he was less than pleased to be locked up.

In the end, Buckbeak's excitement at seeing him over-wrote any cabin fever and his scaly knees bent. His beaked head came into Harry's field of vision and he felt safe to straighten up. He couldn't keep the broad grin off his face as he stepped forwards and Buckbeak butted him in the midriff and shoved his beak under Harry's hand. The butt knocked him back half a step but was gentle and affectionate, if a little demanding, for a tonne of Hippogriff. As he sank his hands into the short, sleek feathers around Buckbeak's jaw; the Hippogriff let out a long breath and rubbed against his fingers. Harry laughed softly and obliged the beast, rubbing carefully around the base of the feathers; there were a few new one's coming in so he rolled the little nibs between his fingers, like Hagrid had shown him, to free them from the dried up protective sheath. It was obviously what Buckbeak was after; his eyes started pinning, the pupils growing and shrinking quickly. The creature backed obediently back into his room when Harry asked him to and pushed against his beak, obviously thrilled to have company. He pulled the door closed after them, keeping one hand in Buckbeak's feathers, so that they wouldn't disturb Snape.

The room was fairly messy; the large straw bed in one corner was a little spread out but largely limited to one place but there were little bones everywhere, ferret and rabbit, Harry guessed. He was just glad there wasn't much Hippogriff dung to deal with. He imagined that someone must have set up a De-Dunging charm on the floor or something, for which he was particularly glad.

The room had been largely stripped of anything to indicate that it had once been a bedroom; the bed was gone, as were a couple of portraits, evidenced by the darker patches of un-faded green wallpaper. If there had been a desk or wardrobe, they were gone too, but a chest of drawers remained near one corner, with a broom and industrial sized dustpan stacked between it and the corner. The floor was bare wood, without any of the rugs that softened it in Harry's room but he supposed Buckbeak wouldn't have appreciated the effort it would have taken to keep them clean. There was a large section of tree trunk, complete with bark, firmly bolted to both the floor and ceiling. It was covered in very deep scratch marks from the six inch hunting claws on the Hippogriffs front talons and gnaw marks, Harry recognised them from Hagrid's demonstration in third year as Buckbeak's attempts to keep his claws and beak trimmed and sharp.

The door to the bathroom had been taken off its hinges and stored somewhere else, and Harry could see that the bath was full of cold water. The sink was gone, as was the shower curtain, and the shower head had been replaced with one of those garden sprayers, presumably for giving the Hippogriff a rain bath. Sirius certainly had made an effort and known what he was on about; it was a good stable. Harry turned his attention back to the feathers on Buckbeak's head while he tried not to cry. It was useless, and pointless; he owed his Godfather a few tears, and besides, his dream had left him shaken, so he gave in.

They started flowing softly and Buckbeak didn't seem to know the significance of the water on Harry's face, he just jostled closer and tipped his head for more grooming. Eventually, Harry released a soft hiccupping sob and _that_ got the animals attention, maybe he sounded like one of his own kind, a foal perhaps, or an injured heard-mate. In any case, Buckbeak's crest went up, his eyes opened wide and he looked around for whatever was causing Harry pain.

Harry spat out a chuckle through his crying, wondering if he had been as protective of his Godfather too; it was a nice feeling when he was so swamped, maybe Sirius had felt the same when he was stuck here. When nothing was obvious to the Hippogriff's keen eyes, Buckbeak looked closely at Harry. He stood obligingly for the inspection, his shoulders shaking slightly and his arms wrapped around his chest as he tried not to break down any further. The creature seemed to come to a decision and his eye's pinned again, the pupils narrowing right down to points. Harry was a little preoccupied but he sure as hell noticed when the Hippogriff started herding him towards the straw bed.

After a quick shuffle of nest-making, where he kicked and pushed straw into a more comfortable pile, the Hippogriff drew Harry down to lie next to his warm flank. Harry went with it, for now, curious as to what the animal was doing, and soon found himself tucked under the Hippogriffs large and rather heavy wing. He was reminded of the swans in the park near the Dursleys; the parents had often had one or two of the smaller cygnets riding on their backs in a nest of wings and feathers.

And wasn't that a can of worms...

Harry turned his head to Buckbeak's flank and let himself cry again, like he had the afternoon before. For his parents, for the father Sirius could have been and for the feeling of age that had settled in his chest. The animal's warm flank rose and shuddered with a sigh and Harry felt a beak carding very gently through his hair, making those gentle nibbles that birds use to sort their feathers out.

Harry wondered for a while exactly _how_ intelligent Hippogriffs were... was he being treated like a foal, or chick, or whatever baby Hippogriffs were called? Had Buckbeak decided he was ill? Either way, it was comforting and warm and Harry slowly cried himself back to sleep, taking the comfort Buckbeak had to offer and hoping that Sirius had too.


	9. Chapter 9: Wolfs' Folly

_AN: Here you are! More of Severus this time around, as it happens. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Nine: Wolfs' Folly

Snape was irritated when he awoke. He could discern no _reason_ for this to be the case, but it was not an unusual occurrence so he sat up, sipped his tea and brooded over his conversation with Potter the previous evening. It had been unexpected but, he realised, not out of character for Potter to apologise as he had. He had given logical, sound reasons for his behaviour, not in an attempt to defend it but simply to explain. Perhaps he wished to foster an understanding between them, now that hostilities had ceased?

He took another sip of his, rather exquisite, tea and decided that he would enquire as to the source of these particular leaves. He wondered why the tea had appeared, these two mornings; it had not been something the elf had done back at the school. Did it not have enough work to remain happy? Hard to believe; the house remained a state, though Kreacher's reinstatement had caused some improvement already.

Severus had spoken to the house elf Dobby while brewing in the lab, the morning before, to ensure that Kreacher had been secured. He did not believe Albus capable of such an over sight, but he had not survived as long as he had through carelessness. Dobby had been... effusive in his endorsement of Harry's orders, allowing Severus to reassure himself that the old elf would be unable to divulge any information. It had been poor judgment in the first place when the elf had been allowed so much freedom, but that was a mistake the Light would and had made often, one which it was up to Severus and apparently Harry to offset.

Finishing off his tea he got up to have his shower, still deep in thought; he would search out Potter for a thorough medical scan, he decided, once he was clean and dry. The fatigue was not unusual; the boy was a grieving insomniac with excessive magical volatility, but he felt compelled to check anyway.

He was not concerned when Harry wasn't in his bed. The absence of movement in the house as he made his was down stairs was also no cause for concern. When the teenager was not in the kitchen, or the basement training room next to the heavily warded lab, he began to frown.

As one of the warders, he was aware of a human presence beside his own still within the House, from which he could conclude that Potter was still nearby. Nonetheless, an unfamiliar feeling of concern assaulted him. He was a methodical man by nature, something necessary in his line of Mastery, so he searched room by room, but no tousled black head appeared on the sofa in the Library, the Dining room was as empty as expected, apart from an old and arthritic house elf. Kreacher did not reply to his queries, so happily absorbed in polishing the long line of goblin-silver goblets on the side board was he. No socked feet hung off the edge of the divan in the Drawing room. The now-clean bathroom was uninhabited.

No voice answered his calls, not even when he descended to using Harry's first name. He maintained his calm under increasing tension as he opened the door to the Master's Study on the same floor as their bedrooms. He was greeted by a Boggart, which he promptly shut the door on. The creature had appeared as his own worst fear immediately, without evidence of a Dementor, so he moved swiftly on.

As he opened the door to the Mistresses Bedroom, he was slightly surprised to find Stamford's Stable ward stretched over the frame, before he remembered that the Hippogriff was kept here. He pulled the door wide with caution, noting that it had been modified to open outwards instead of inwards, presumably to prevent the injury of the beast within. His sharp gaze flicked around the room to locate the potentially murderous animal and he felt a great surge of relief when he found a head of black hair tucked close to the Hippogriff's side like a foal.

He may, _may_, have allowed himself a smile before he walked carefully to stand in front of the animal and bow. The beast raised its head from where it had rested on its forelegs and gave Severus a hard stare that he felt on the top of his head.

"I will not hurt the boy, I will not hurt your foal," He said, quietly enough to show willing by avoiding waking Harry. He wondered if the boy knew he was being fathered yet again, he would not mention anything, however; the idea was fraught.

He saw the steely beak dip to the floor and released a little tension. Slowly, he raised his head and looked the Hippogriff in the eye; animals, even magical creatures, had no barrier against Legilimency and fierce emotion showed in them. Protectiveness, mostly, though mixed with the ever-present desire to fly. Snape nodded to himself, reassured as to Harry's safety, as if the animal's body language had not been enough.

"Thank you, Buckbeak; you have done well by him." For a proud animal, the Hippogriff appreciated praise; his crest rose and a soft and happy rumble echoed up out of his deep chest. Seemingly pleased with Severus, he reached out with his beak and tugged the wizard's sleeve delicately, pulling him onto the pile of straw. Stepping lightly, Severus obliged and approached the still sleeping Potter. The Hippogriff's wing lowered and Severus could see the soft expression of relaxed sleep on his young-old face.

He drew his wand, which Buckbeak sniffed at before permitting its use, and cast the diagnostic charms he had deemed most likely to uncover the problems Potter may face. Fortunately little appeared; malnutrition, the poorly developed bones he had already identified, but nothing else.

One would be permanent, now, but the other he could begin to rectify.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

"Potter, wake up" A deep, almost growly voice pierced his comfortable shell, "Come now, it would not do for the Weasley's to see you like this."

He became aware of the crick in his neck and the smell of warm animal fur slowly as he shifted slightly against Buckbeak's flank. His heavy blanket lifted off him and the brush of cool air helped him wake up and he blinked his eyes open languidly.

"Good morning, Professor..." He mumbled automatically, his hair had dried while he was asleep and he could feel it sticking up on the right side, where he had been leaning against the Hippogriff.

"Indeed. Come along." A hand appeared in front of his face and he gripped it dazedly. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he certainly shouldn't have been surprised when the Potions Master hauled him to his feet.

"Thanks," He mumbled as he got his balance and let the helping hand go. He lifted his glasses onto his forehead so he could rub his eyes, and then brushed his hair down with his fingers. He felt pretty dazed, which was nice, and actually a little rested, which was even better. Buckbeak clambered to his feet, once they were out of range of the necessary flailing, and nuzzled Harry, making a low rumble as he did.

As Harry gave him the requested head-scratches he thanked the Hippogriff sincerely, he hadn't slept that well, out of Dreamless Sleep, in a long, long time. He could feel the raised eyebrow Snape was looking at him with so he gave the feathers one last smooth over and retreated.

"Was there something I can do for you, Professor?" He enquired as he made his way delicately across the bone-littered floor; he hadn't put any shoes on when he left his room to ensure that he made no noise. The potions master gave a vaguely irritated grunt;

"One would imagine, after five years, I would have grown accustomed to finding your sorry hide in strange places, however..." Snape opened the door and Harry caught a glimpse of irritation and exasperated amusement on Snape's face as he stepped through, "It would appear that you will never cease to surprise me."

Harry followed with his own mild amusement carefully hidden; "Sorry about that sir. You don't _have_ to come find me every time." He murmured, referring to the numerous detentions he had received, justly, for being out after curfew.

"Ah, but then the school would be faced by an ever-increasing build up of poorly cleaned cauldrons, crisis would, no doubt, ensue." Snape replied with an utterly dead-pan expression as Harry nipped into his bedroom to pick up Dobby's birthday present. As he emerged, Harry suppressed an incredulous laugh and turned to head down the stairs;

"Sir, did you just make a _joke_?" He threw over his shoulder. It was a big relief that their conversation the day before had spilled over into this relaxed camaraderie, Harry didn't think he'd have been able to cope if Snape had been his past cruel self.

"Of course not, I resent the implication." Snape's face was controlled and stern, but lacking the usual harshness. Harry was quick to notice the lack of insults about his intelligence too.

"Right, sir. Of course." He repeated, before falling silent. By mutual agreement neither said anything as they descended from the second to the ground floor and remained silent until they reached the kitchen. Without Dumbledore around to cast a powerful muffling ward, silence was the only way to avoid the wrath of Walburga Black. Harry watched Snape gracefully avoid the creaky floorboards before following him and copying his lithe, silent manner of stepping.

The smell of toast, bacon and the bumping of boiling eggs greeted them as they entered the kitchen,

"Good morning, Dobby, Happy birthday." Harry said with a smile. He braced himself as the elf put the frying pan down and turned to give him a fierce hug,

"Master Harry Potter sir is a good Wizard! Dobby is thanking him very much for remembering his birthday!" Harry thought he could feel water soaking into his trousers in the vicinity of Dobby's face and grimaced slightly;

"That's alright, Dobby, birthdays are important." He patted the little elf on the shoulder and tried to prise him off his legs.

Severus made his way to his habitual seat at the table, to the Head's left, and poured himself a second cup of tea. Harry's comment about birthdays struck a chord with him, something about his tone of voice. He knew the Dursleys would not have appreciated the boy's birthdays, when he had still been a boy... It would take a great deal to make up for that, if it was even possible to do so.

"Go sit at the table, Dobby, have some tea; I'll finish this lot. 'Day off' includes breakfast, you realise." Harry had managed to get the house elf off his legs and he smiled down warmly at the slightly overwhelmed creature. Dobby didn't object; Harry wasn't sure if that was obedience or gratitude speaking but he didn't mind. He put the elf's present down in front of him once he had sat down and hoped that he didn't get overly emotional again.

"There be a timing bell on the eggses! Soft boiled, for soldiers, toast is nearly done!" Dobby squeaked, the noise grating on Severus' ears as he took another sip of the fine tea. Harry had already turned back to the cooker to flip the bacon over with an experienced hand and nodded absently.

"Thanks Dobby," He said over the noise of the bacon spitting as he looked into the egg pan. There were two large, powder blue duck eggs jostling of position with a small brown chicken egg, which Harry assumed was for Dobby. He had a brief moment of incredulity when he imagined Snape eating a boiled egg but he soon chastised himself; he had eaten breakfast in the same room as the man for five years, he should be used to the fact that teachers eat, too.

"Oh Harry Potter sir! Thankses and thankses!" Harry grinned to himself as he heard the rustling of paper and the clatter of small needles. Mrs Weasley's note had said that she'd thought Dobby would like an embroidery set and that she'd included some of the little 'fancies' that people sewed onto socks. Harry wasn't entirely sure what that meant but Dobby certainly sounded happy.

Severus watched with concealed amusement as the little elf jittered in excitement; Mrs Weasley had done a good job. When the paper was demolished completely the elf had added a double handful of Never-Out spools of brightly coloured threads to the pot of different sized needles sitting on the table, next to a card of tiny clothing bows and decorative buttons. Given the creatures penchant for the colour changing hat he had worn every time Severus had encountered him in the past seven months, Severus was oddly pleased to see a roll of Rainbow Ribbon. While his eyes certainly suffered to see some of the colour monstrosities that hat was capable of, the pleasure the elf clearly got out of presents was... gratifying.

"It's from Mrs Weasley as well, and you're welcome, Dobby, I hope you get lots of use out of it." Harry replied as he turned the toast over under the grill. He missed electric toasters for a second; for all that they produced boring, uniform results, they were reliable and didn't need nearly as much attention.

"Dobby will! Dobby is using his day off to stitch his Families Crest on his pillowcaseses!" Harry grinned, glad that he'd thought to give him the day, he almost hadn't; thinking that Dobby might be insulted. It'd seem, he thought with a private grin, that the number of 'es's the elf tacked on the end of words was an indication of how excited he was. The egg timer went off, then, and he fished them out and stood them carefully in the egg cups that Dobby'd had waiting.

It was much more pleasant to cook for himself, for once, and for people who didn't (any more) hate him for reasons out of his control. He could do some bacon extra crispy for himself, and take his toast out early so that it was just a little bit soft. It struck him as he was cutting the bread up into soldiers that that happiness in the simple things was pretty telling; it was kinda sad. He shuffled the cooked food onto a tray and took it over to the table to join the large dish of hot cooked mushrooms and grilled tomatoes.

He had to call Dobby's name to draw his attention away from his new spools of multi-coloured yarns and threads but the three soon settled down to breakfast. It was a little bit surreal, for all involved, but it was civilised and comfortable, nonetheless.

Harry knocked the top off his egg with a knife and caught the escaping yolk with a bit of heavily buttered toast before dipping the corner of his crispy bacon into the little yellow pool. Snape managed to make eating a soft-boiled egg look refined and sneered at Harry's table manners, though he refrained from commenting, while Dobby joined Harry in plain enjoyment of the good food.

Once done eating, Snape disappeared into the potions lab and Harry and Dobby talked as they cleared away their plates. The tureen of fried mushrooms and the plate of bacon stayed on the table for the Weasley's and Harry put some more toast on before retrieving his work from the sideboard.

The Weasley's arrived half an hour later, Ron and Ginny helping themselves to bacon and toast as they greeted Harry, who was immersed in deciphering another of Neville's horrendous potions accidents. Mrs Weasley wished Dobby happy birthday, setting off her children to do the same, and the poor little elf was reduced to tears once again. The twins turned up ten minutes later and the four siblings set out to work on the dining room on the ground floor.

As they passed him, one of the twins dropped a tiny box on his lap, where Mrs Weasley couldn't see. They winked outrageously as they disappeared upstairs. Harry just rolled his eyes and tucked it into his pocket to have a look at later. He assumed, correctly, that it was the samples the twins had promised the night before.

He hurried to finish his analysis; he was fairly sure Neville had both stirred the wrong way around and added the shrivelfig too soon, so he could join the Weasley's upstairs. Once he sat back, however, he took a moment to watch Mrs Weasley and Dobby. They were just sitting with tea, talking quietly about something or other and comparing spools of thread. Seeing that he was no longer occupied, Mrs Weasley gave him a warm smile;

"Harry, dear, would you fetch a copy of the Potter Crest?" Harry's chest tightened in that familiar way and he took a deep breath to keep his calm,

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley, I wouldn't know where to look, I didn't know we even had a Crest." He said sadly. How was he supposed to know, anyway? He was the only Potter left and had been for almost fifteen years.

"Oh Harry..." She said with a very sad look on her face, Harry had to look away. "Right then! Come along, Harry; the Blacks are related to the Potters, there'll be a genealogy in the library!"

Harry scrubbed his face with his hands before looking up; Mrs Weasley was standing by the door with a determined look on her face, brushing down her apron and skirts with brisk, angry motions. She was muttering irritably;

"Honestly, telling the boy nothing, you'd think they'd be proud to have a Potter in the family, but no, they tell him nothing...!" Harry smiled again, amused at how irritated his surrogate Mum was getting at his relatives.

"That'd be great, thanks Mrs Weasley," He gave her a quick hug, and she patted him on the top of the head,

"There there, now, nothing to be sad about! Feel free to join us, Dobby," She said with a determined smile; she was going to get some of his family history into Harry's head, no matter what, and that included allowing Dobby to embroider the Potter Crest on his 'clothes'.

"Dobby is feeling free! Dobby is feeling very free indeed!" he squeaked from the table where he was gathering up his birthday present into its bag.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Harry sat back in his armchair with an amused huff; Dorea Black had done a lot of research on his family before she had become a Potter, so there were fairly complete records of before her time. The Family Tree they'd found was self updating and Harry had spent a few minutes staring at the scroll as he traced the lines of relation upwards to people with familiar names, a lot of 'James's and 'Harold's were scattered throughout the male line. He'd had trouble not choking up.

He shuffled back in his armchair, looking over at Dobby who had, true to his word, joined them in the library over an hour ago and was embroidering a patch with the silver knight's helmet that traditionally rested on top of the Potter shield, as an indication that the shield had been earned as a Knight of the realm. He'd twittered happily over the design and started immediately. They had found an illustrated document of service, honouring one of Harry's ancestors by the name of Archibald Ignotus Potter for services to 'Wizarding England and the Crown' with the crest emblazoned at the top. How Dorea Black had gotten a hold of it was quite the question; Mrs Weasley said that it should have been in the Potter family Vault, at least, but she also said that it may just be a copy. It was dated to the turn of the fourteenth century and Harry was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of history that he held claim to.

"Don't worry, dear, I know it's a lot to take in." She reached over and patted his hand, looking a little out of place surrounded by old books rather than knitting and her children. Speaking of which, Ron had popped in briefly to tell his mum that the twins had gone out for more varnish for the long dining table and had been suitably impressed by Ancestor Archibald's heroics.

"You really must have a shield made, Harry; as Head of the House of Black, you'll have to add their Raven and Sword..." She said as if unsure of his response.

"Yeah, I'll do that." He mumbled absently, surprised out of his funk when Dobby spoke up;

"Dobby can be meeting the Heraldry Wizard! Dobby is knowing him well,"

"Thanks, Dobby; just don't forget that today's your day off, ok?" Harry replied with a grin. The little elf smiled broadly and went back to drawing the outline in black thread.

"Dobby is not forgetting; Master Harry is a good and kind Master, but sometimes forgets that Dobby is not slow!" Unless Harry was way off the mark, Dobby had _smirked_ at him!

"'Course you aren't! I'm just saying, you did look pretty excited, after all." He said with a much needed laugh. Curious now, he continued; "So you're familiar with him? How's that?"

"Ohh, Dobby is having the Draco Malfoy's Signet ring made, when he was going to Hogwarts." Dobby didn't seem to have trouble talking about his old masters these days, as long as he kept it neutral. He leaned towards Harry as if imparting a secret; "The young master is linking his namesake very much, he is having many toys of dragons." He leaned forwards again with a look of mischief that Harry was gratified to see, "He is having a Dragon Rampant for his Signet!"

Harry grinned and leaned back, the secret now spoken. It was a very amusing image; the reserved and cold Draco Malfoy playing with stuffed and possibly animated dragons. He wondered if they'd been able to breathe fire.

"Right, I must go begin lunch," Mrs Weasley stated as the stood and brushed down her apron so it lay flat against her legs. "I'll get on the Floo and see who's coming to dinner, too."

"Sounds good, Mrs Weasley, I'll come give you a hand in a bit..." He said, slightly distracted. Mrs Weasley didn't mind; she just smiled approvingly as she left.

The train of thought took a disturbing turn after that, as he realised how _young_ Malfoy had been when they first met, how saturated in Lucius Malfoy's words he must have been. His own words came back to him, verbatim, from his argument with Ron the day before and he suddenly found himself distanced from his hatred of the younger Malfoy, feeling that blame didn't truly lie at an eleven year olds feet.

He was just a child.

Harry watched the mesmerising progress of the needle as it filled in the Tattered Flag that flew behind the afore-mentioned helmet on the traditional Potter shield. It was bright crimson, which Mrs Weasley had said represented a victory in their past. Harry had found out from the book of Heraldry open on the table that it originated from the practice of taking the Family Crest into battle as a standard, where it would inevitably become bloodied. As losers were not allowed to keep their standard, were not _around_ to keep it, the bloody and torn silk motif was a powerful symbol.

Harry shuddered, he did not like thinking about his family as warlike, but was mollified by the fact that from what he could tell, they had always been on the right side, like Ancestor Archibald. Since 'Right' is often decided by the winners, it wasn't a perfect solution, but it would do for now. He would continue the tradition, with pride.

The shield itself was a golden stag on a green field and Harry spent a long time looking at that part of the image. While having less historical meaning, the stag was his family symbol, something that he shared; his father had shared, and so on down the male line. He had a thought that perhaps his Father's Animagus form had been a reflection of the importance of his family, his own Patronus, modelled as it was after his dad, certainly was.

The stag was depicted leaping out of the shield, with its head down near its raised front legs and its antlers in full view. Harry ran his fingers over the embossed image, thinking about where he could put the elements of Sirius' Coat of Arms... maybe he could put a pair of the Black House Ravens on either side of Prongs', (as he was already thinking of the stag,) antlers...

Yes, and the sword, which on the Black shield was an unadorned silver sabre, would become the sword of Gryffindor, lying at Prongs' feet. He felt that fitting, given how Sirius had been Sorted, and the way he had reacted to Harry's story of the Basilisk.

He spoke about it with Dobby, partly asking his opinion and partly telling him what he would like, and the little elf got all enthusiastic again, sketching the proposed design on the shield he'd outlined in gold.

With that decided, and to distract himself from his painful thoughts, Harry headed downstairs to help Mrs Weasley with lunch.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*~

Snape greeted Lupin tersely when he arrived, knocking in his infuriatingly timid manner of the door to the lab.

"Good morning, Severus." He did not bother to look up, Severus knew what he would see, this close to the full moon; sunken eyes, a gray pallor and a tense, hunched posture. He made the last in a line of twenty nine precision figures of eight before so much as reacting further to the werewolf's presence. With a smooth movement he withdrew the stirring rod, (chromium, with a copper core,) careful not to touch the metal of the cauldron at any point, and lay it down on a rag.

"While it is of an hour before noon, I would hardly call it anything but disappointing, given your inevitable company." He growled as he turned to decant the Wolfsbane potion.

"Pleasant as ever, I see..." The man had the audacity to sound amused! "I saw the papers in the kitchen, truly, Severus? Making Harry do extra assignments? Very harsh."

Severus looked up briefly, concealing his confusion; while he and the boy had had civil conversation he had not brought up potions and Harry's poor skills there-in since the teenager had identified Dreamless Sleep at Number Four. "Whatever strange notion's Potter has about Potions, this work is not of my doing. I have been busy." He said pointedly, turning back to the potion and setting out the large single-dose pewter goblet that the potion must be drunk from, due to its reactivity to silver in particular and glass, to a lesser extent. He could feel the werewolf's gaze on the thick stream of potion as it fell into the bowl, giving off the appropriate shade of blue smoke.

"How is he, Severus?" Lupin's voice was suddenly rather quiet, unsure of itself and Severus looked at the man's face properly for the first time; 'gray pallor' was not of sufficient strength to describe the wolf's condition, he looked like he might fall over at any moment. It... it was not so different from what Severus had observed in Harry; grief, insomnia and the accompanying exhaustion.

Mrs Weasley had informed him of Potters explanation for his accidental magic, though to most it wouldn't be of concern, all children do accidental magic, after all, Snape had identified it as a breaking or turning point for Harry, he had felt the boy's mind just after the incident and again since... there was improvement. Not a great deal, but some. He did not think that justified the terrible shock to his system that had forced those realisations to solidify, nor did it justify the loss of Lily's wards.

He was, dare he say it, angry on the Gryffindors behalf.

Severus restrained himself as he handed the potion over and waited for Lupin to drink it all. Since the end of the werewolf's tenure, Severus had begun to insist that Lupin drink the potion in his presence, to prevent 'forgetfulness' as had happened that fateful night. Once the potion was gone, Severus let rip; he advanced on the weakened werewolf, his teeth bared in a snarl;

"What _possessed_ you to send the boy that parcel?! In what way did your pathetic, walnut sized brain consider that a prudent idea?" He snarled when Lupin stopped backing away from him as he advanced, as the unfortunate ex-professor had hit the wall. "What _selfishness_ took you and robbed you of what pitiful intelligence you had remaining?!"

"I, I – Severus, what-"

"You caused the Battle for Number Four, single-handedly precipitating a fit of accidental magic that caused the end of the most powerful wards in all of Britain and all her _fine colonies!"_ Lupin looked suitably shocked and cowed; for a werewolf, he was shockingly timid, to the point of irritating.

"I didn't think, I... what hap-"

"Oh, Merlin forbid that any Gryffindor other than Harry-BLOODY-Potter ever _think!_" Severus took a deep breath and convinced himself that he did not want to hex the wolf, "Your _wonderful_ and _timely_ reminder of the death of the boy's father figure," His voice dripped with sarcasm and scorn, in response to which Lupin's skin paled further to parchment white. "Caused his expulsion from that house!"

Severus stepped back, breathing harder and still enraged that Lupin had not thought for a moment beyond his own grief to consider Harry Potter's turmoil, a chaos that could well have destroyed far more than a doorframe and a ceiling rose that day. Lupin's slack-jawed-idiot impression grated on Severus' nerves and he snarled at him once more;

"Get out, Lupin, and do not let Potter see you." It looked like Lupin was going to try and say something, but Severus turned his back on the stricken man to attend to his simmering cauldron.

"Severus, I had no idea... I thought his relatives would..." Severus chopped the burdock root a little more vigorously than necessary in his anger and snapped back,

"His _relatives,"_ he sneered, "would do _nothing_. Not if Potter was bleeding to death on the step. Do not think you know him, wolf."

He didn't look over his shoulder again but he knew the wolf had left, dazed and shocked. Once the roots were sliced properly, Severus used the back of the knife to ferry them into the potion and then, turning the knife in his hand, he brought the point crashing down on the bench, driving the point deep into the wood and trying not to imagine it as the wolf's skull.

He took up his stirring rod and tried to calm himself using the smooth repetitive movements of anti-clockwise stirring until the roots dissolved into the nutrient potion.


	10. Chapter 10: a Birthday Interlude

Chapter Ten: a Birthday Interlude

Harry got lucky; by the time he reached the kitchen, Remus had vanished into the Floo, sparing him the confrontation that had loomed. He was set to chopping carrots and settled into it peacefully; for all that the topic had been difficult to handle, in the library, he had gained a certain stability from the process of learning some of his history. It helped that he could concentrate on slicing the carrots to exactly eighths of an inch slices as practice for potions, too, and not think about much for a while.

"Mrs Weasley, do you think we should make Dobby a birthday cake? Would he like that?" He said as he swept the carrots to the side of the chopping board and got started on the potatoes. Tornado Molly looked up from her bit of counter, where she was sautéing leeks, peeling the last of the spuds and chopping tomatoes for the salad, all at once.

"Well, now... As an elf he can't eat dairy, milk in particular, but Victoria sponge would be fine as long as you use a jam filling. Do you have something particular in mind?" She said smiling and keeping an eagle eye on the leeks. "It's nearly ready for the potatoes, now dear..."

Harry nodded and hurried to get the last few, which flew over from Mrs Weasley's peeling spell, chopped up into cubes. "Yeah, I saw a rainbow cake on telly once; Dudley wanted me to make it," Harry said ruefully, missing the sad look that crossed Mrs Weasley's face, "I'd like to give it a go, he'd like all the colours."

"Of course he would, gosh, yes... I think it's a splendid idea. We can get to it while the soup is stewing." She gestured to the vegetables Harry had been cutting, "Throw those in now, and we'll put the stock on."

In went the vegetables, with a touch more oil and then the celery and beef stock was poured over the top. As he fished out the soup bones with a slotted spoon he was reminded of Buckbeak and wondered who was looking after him,

"Do you know who feeds Buckbeak? I'll do it for today if it's Dobby's job." He asked as he stepped back from the bubbling soup and wiped potato starch off his hands.

"Oh! I had quite forgotten, yes, Hagrid sends over ferret and mink for him... Here. He gets three a day." She said as she stepped away from the soup and leaned down to the cupboard under the sink to pull out a large crate. She popped the top to show large packages wrapped in grease paper and tied with string.

Harry thought they looked... pretty disgusting really. Each one held three skinned and gutted carcasses, about the length on Harry's forearm. At least the packages were sealed... He hefted one up and Mrs Weasley put the crate away again.

"You go on up, I'll finish off the soup and then we'll be ready for some baking." She said, washing her hands and going back to the hob.

"Right. I won't be long," He said as he pushed open the door with his elbow and headed up stairs. He stuck his head in the dining room on his way past, snorting at the smell of fresh varnish, and said hello to the Weasley's. The twins were having an aerial brush fight with the varnish brushes, pausing every now and then to spread the splattered varnish on the table. It was already looking glossy and new, and the whole room looked bright and clean. Kreacher was there, too, muttering and cleaning the skirting boards.

"Alright, you lot?" He said, over the sound of sloppy brush impacts,

"Wotcha, Harry!" Ron replied with, putting down his bucket of sugar soap which he'd been cleaning the wallpaper with; it actually looked green, instead of gray, in his wake.

"You've been spending too much time with Tonks, Ron, honestly." Ginny chipped in. "How's the history lesson? Mum can be a bit... yeah."

"Oi! Watch it, sister ours, that's"

"Our _mother_, you're talking about!" The twins chorused with mock insult before charming Ginny's hair into pigtails, making her look like a seven year old; Harry winced and tried not to laugh.

"It was great; Mrs Weasley knows what she's on about." He said, truthfully. Maybe the Weasley children had had their history hammered into them at a young age but Harry was old enough to appreciate it. "I was about to go see Buckbeak, anyone coming?"

There was a mixed reception; the twins declined immediately, but requested any shed feathers they might find, Ron was by his side in seconds, and Ginny followed him slowly, still getting her hair out of the pigtails. "Right then, you can take this." Harry said as he foisted off the meat on Ron. The red-head looked suitably disgusted at the cold, squelchy package but didn't complain.

"What... what exactly is in this?" Ginny asked, poking the grease paper with a wary look on her face.

"Skinned mink, I think. Could be ferret though." Harry said, absently as they fell quiet to pass the entrance hall and make their way up stairs. Ron looked amused at the idea of feeding Buckbeak ferret, which made Harry slightly uncomfortable, understandably. Once they were out of hearing range of the portrait, Ron spoke up;

"Hey Harry, how come you never wrote back? 'Mione was right worried..." He said, looking down at the parcel and looking unhappy. Ginny patted him on the shoulder and looked at Harry expectantly.

"I... well, Hedwig was... um." He failed utterly at making the answer neither embarrassing nor insulting, and gave up, "I was really upset, and she helped out, ok? I couldn't stand to send her away." He knew he was blushing by the end of that, it was better to be embarrassed than to wrongly insult his friends.

"See, I told you it'd be something like that! Why'd you have to go and bring it up?" Ginny scolded her brother, clipping him around the back of the head.

"Oi! Ginny, stoppit..." Ron cringed away from her, hopping up a few steps to get out of reach and walking ahead of them.

"It's alright Ginny; I'll send 'Mione an owl after lunch." He gripped her shoulder briefly as they reached the third floor landing. "Now there're people around, it's not so bad." Ginny looked at him searchingly before nodding back.

"Um... could someone get the door, please?" Ron asked tentatively, still feeling like he might be in the doghouse, and Harry answered with a 'no hard feelings' smile, and a pat on the shoulder, before pulling the door open. Buckbeak was in the bathroom as they filed in but soon got himself turned around and rushed to greet them. They bowed together and the Hippogriff returned the gesture before investigating the grease paper package. Ron put it on the dresser and pulled the strings off, before Buckbeak could make an absolute mess of it. Ginny and Harry kept him somewhat distracted by grooming his feathers and drying off the water around his huge beak, until Ron had untangled the first mink.

The then backed off so that Ron could throw it to the Hippogriff and they wouldn't get trampled in the excitement. It turned out to be unnecessary; Buckbeak snatched it out of the air very precisely and began to tear strips of meat off the skeleton.

"It's good to see him again... The wards don't open for us, on our own, so we don't see him much." Ron said, putting the other two carcasses on the floor for Buckbeak to get at when he wanted.

Harry looked a little surprised, but then thought that it was probably the same as the House giving him the Master bedroom, it saw him as an adult, now. "I'm the Head of the House of Black. I don't think any wards in this place are allowed to keep me out. Wouldn't want to test Snape's ones though."

"Too right..." Ron gave a shiver, while Ginny just laughed at him; she would never be so silly as to try.

"I've got to get back down stairs and make cake. You can help out, if you want." He said as they left their fine, feathered friend to his food.

"Nah, mate. I'm as bad at cooking as I am at divination, I'll go keep an eye on the twins." Ron replied with a wince,

"I'll come!" Ginny said, veritably bouncing down stairs, "It's for Dobby, right?"

"SHHH!" Harry hissed; they weren't that far from the library, where Dobby was still ensconced with his birthday present, or the portrait. "It's supposed to be a surprise! Yeah, it is; we're making rainbow cake the muggle way." Ron and Ginny both grinned at that, being familiar with the elf's enjoyment of bright colours. "I've just got to pop in and see the twins for a second,"

They were done with the table by then; it was looking magnificent, though Harry would probably check it for tricks at some point, just to be sure. He could see why they didn't really mind cleaning though, it gave them a chance to practice; while they'd been upstairs, the chandelier had turned into a magnificent floating and sparkling... something, which may or may not have resembled a tree. Harry was impressed, as always, by their creativity.

"Hey guys, can I ask a favour?" Harry said, standing in the door way. Ron went back to his bit of the cleaning, grumbling about not having his wand and generally complaining about the entire process.

"Sure, mate. What,"

"Can we do for you?" They turned together and beamed at Harry, who quickly outlined his request. He wondered if he'd made a grave mistake when they turned to each other, smirked and Apparated out. He and Ginny helped Ron put the dining chairs back around the table while they waited for the terrible twosome to get back from their flat.

Harry and Ron were just hauling the massive gilt Head of House chair into place when the crack of Apparition sounded again and the pair reappeared. Ginny pushed the last chair into place and then all three went to have a look at what was in the box one of the twins was carrying. Harry grinned as he shuffled the ten little vials around,

"Thanks, these are perfect. No tricks, right?" He asked suspiciously,

"Nah, wouldn't do that,"

"to dear old Dobby."

"Not on his Birthday."

"All right I believe you," Harry said as he took the box and lifted a vial of food colour to the light, it shone jewel-green, much to his satisfaction.

"I bloody don't... good luck, Harry!" Ron commented, prompting the twins to protest in mock outrage at their besmirched honour. Ginny and Harry made their escape while the three were distracted by the application of headlocks and colour changing curses.

They went quiet again as they emerged into the hall, two sets of very quiet feet going down the stairs to the kitchen.

Harry sought Ginny's opinion on the DA once they were most of the way down the stairs and out of range of the portrait;

"Hey, you know what I said yesterday, about the Patronus charm? Well... do you think I could make the DA into a normal club? Or should, even..." he asked. Ginny, being one step removed from Harry and in the year below, had an ear to the ground in a way he, Ron and Hermione couldn't manage, due to their notoriety. She looked thoughtful and pushed the kitchen door open to greet her mum; Harry followed on her heels and did the same.

"Hey Mrs Weasley," He kissed Mrs Weasley on the cheek when she offered it to him and noticed that she'd tidied up most of the lunch stuff, or put it on the table.

"I'll leave you to it, then, do you need a recipe?" Mrs Weasley said as she wiped her hands on her apron,

"Um, yes, just one for Victoria sponge. I can remember most of it but you know how it is." He replied, already elbow deep in bubbles as he washed his hands of any possible nasties Buckbeak's dinner might have had on it. He pulled a denim apron off the hook on the pantry door before putting it on and heading into the pantry proper for flour and eggs. He could hear Mrs Weasley calling from in the kitchen;

"It's on the counter, dear."

"Thanks, mum, we should be done by lunchtime." Ginny replied over the clattering of mixing bowls as Harry emerged with his arms full of ingredients.

"So?" He prompted as he flipped open the cookbook.

"You mean do away with the List and the secretive stuff, right?" She said, peering over his shoulder curiously.

"Yeah, there's not much point in keeping that up anymore, everyone knows about it anyway." Propping open the book with a spoon, he started measuring out sugar and margarine. "We're doubling everything, would you sort the eggs?"

"That's true; after Dumbledore had to leave the school it was pretty much out of the bag." She commented, handing him a fork to cream the fat and sugar together and putting one on the counter to whisk the eggs with. Harry nodded, that had been a gesture and a half; the Headmaster disappearing like that after declaring that he'd been training an army. The rumours had soon sorted it out though, DA members writing home to family spread the truth pretty effectively, as had casual conversations between Order members. Harry thought that Fudge though, the idiot, was probably still afraid of Dumbledore and the mere _idea_ that he might have an army, led by one Harry Potter.

"You'd have to let the Slytherins join, you realize." She said it casually, unlike her brother, and Harry tensed slightly, unsure about her reaction. She was cracking eggs into another bowl delicately and didn't _seem_ angry.

"Yeah, I think that'd be for the best... does that piss you off?" He said, glancing side long at her as she whisked the eggs.

"Language Harry!" Mrs Weasley called from the table, where she was knitting with her chair turned towards the fire.

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley!" he answered with a slight cringe.

"It doesn't, not really. Most of them aren't that bad and we'll have to watch everyone anyway. Was this what you and Ron were fighting over yesterday?" She inquired as she passed over the eggs, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, you can imagine what he thought." He put the whisked eggs in easy reach and wiped the scales pan clean of butter. "He apologised for blowing up, though."

"Ohh, lucky you! I usually just get brought one of mum's biscuits." Harry laughed as he brushed his hands off,

"Anyway, I'm going to be actually planning things in advance this year, you feel like helping out?" Ginny did that one-eyebrow-up thing again, as if Harry were dense.

"Are you asking me to join the DA's leaders?" Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again; not entirely sure what that meant.

"Leaders?" He asked, turning to weigh out the flour.

"You, Hermione, Ron? You mostly. You run the meetings; every one listens? Leading. " She said, putting the necessary weights on the far end of the scales while he poured the flour. She sounded distinctly amused, to Harry's irritation.

"Oh. Well... I suppose someone had to do it. Anyway, the group's going to be bigger next year, we might have to split it up too. I could probably use the help, particularly when the firsties want to join." He quirked a grin at her and they both imagined the chaotic groups that sometimes came to watch Quidditch practices.

"Yeah, that'll be interesting..." She eyeballed the scales and told him to stop once they were level, "Ok, I'm in. You should think about giving Neville some responsibility, too, it'd be good for him."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah, I think you're right with that one... He's better than he thinks, stronger."

"I've never heard of defensive Herbology, though." Ginny commented sieving the flour onto the sugar and butter.

"Well, the Devil's Snare we had to pass to get to the Stone in first year was pretty evil, we were lucky we had 'Mione's bluebell flames." He replied, adding the egg.

"Good point, and Venomous Tentacular is plain mean." They grinned at each other over the bowl; Neville would _love_ talking about his plants.

They took turns folding in the flour and split the mixture up into seven bowls, adding a different colour to each one.

"What about Luna?" Harry asked quietly; the strange, eerie Witch had shown her skills at the Department, but he wasn't sure how people would take it if he put her in charge of something.

"She's tough, Luna, much tougher than you'd think." Ginny said with a thoughtful frown, "She's probably the best duellist in my year... no-one admits it but everyone knows, and she's nifty with healing charms."

"Alright then, that settles it. I've been thinking that the younger ones should prioritise healing, since we don't do any until fourth year, and the Patronus, along with the usual Defence stuff, I'll see if she'll help out with that." He said, as if making a decision while adding extra blue to a bowl. His voice and face fell slightly then; "I want to give them a reason to keep out of any fighting, I mean most of them will be scared, but when we were first years, that sure as hell didn't stop us going after the stone, or the Basilisk in second."

Ginny gripped his elbow gently, making him pause in his mixing. He looked up, conflicting emotions written all over his face;

"You're doing the right thing, Harry. This war is coming, whether we're ready or not." She looked and sounded like her mother; stern and resolute. "The more prepared everyone is; the better."

"You're right, you're right, it's just... I'm starting to think about them like soldiers, medics... there's something not right about that." He dumped the cake tin on the counter angrily, shrugging off her hand.

"That's not your fault, Harry. Blame the bloody Ministry and Snake Face." She replied, the anger in her voice obvious, as she turned back to the counter, picking up the red mix and shoving it at Harry.

"Right. Stupid, bloody, idiotic, psychotic, melodramatic, thrice-damne-" He rattled off, venting, only to be interrupted by Mrs Weasley's Scary Voice. The one where you could tell she was smiling too sweetly to be safe;

"I understand the sentiment, however, I would appreciate it if you stopped swearing, _right this minute_." She was standing right behind him and he very nearly dropped the mixing bowl.

"Right! Yes, of course! Sorry Mrs Weasley!" He hurried to apologise and was rewarded with a pat on the shoulder.

"Finish your cake, there's a good boy." She bustled off to get the bread out of the oven and both Harry and Ginny relaxed from their rigid-backed postures.

"Wow."

"Yeah..." They finished the cake, largely in silence.

Dobby, Ron and the twins drifted in just as the cake, cooked, cooled and iced, was put in the pantry out of sight, twenty minutes later. Harry thought that the boys-Weasley had probably been attracted by the scent; the entire room smelled like fluffy, warm, vanilla sponge and jam and Harry'd bet that it'd travelled through the house.

Mrs Weasley put away her knitting and began getting the lunch on the table, truly in her element. All five of them were pressed into service while Dobby put the finishing touches on the Crest.

Since everyone except Snape was already there, Harry was sent to fetch him when he had finished laying the table. He was nervous about interrupting the man, but not as much as he would have been a week ago. He pulled his apron off and tried not to look like a child who'd been helping in the kitchen as he knocked. It was pretty hopeless.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*

As Severus opened the door with a wave of his wand, he looked up from his lesson plans; the man-child was standing in the door way, flour in his hair and ... was that white icing on his cheek? The open door let in a wave of air from the kitchen, bringing with it the strong smell of baking and vanilla. While he would never admit it, his mouth decided to start watering and he had to swallow, suddenly hungry.

"Yes, Mr Potter? Spit it out." He muttered acerbically; while the promise of good food had improved his mood, his anger with Lupin had yet to fade completely.

"Lunch's ready, Sir. Mrs Weasley told me to fetch you." He looked nervous, Severus realised as he sat back and dropped his quill on the blotter; he found it... irritating. Perhaps he thought that here, in Severus' lab, that he would suddenly be the target of Severus' traditional ridicule. Understandable, logical even, and yet, Severus found it grating on his patience, particularly so soon after he had berated the wolf for his thoughtlessness in that area.

"Very well, I will be there imminently." He tried to reduce the bite in his voice and was largely successful, as evidenced by Potter's relieved expression. He stood and shuffled his lesson plans into and ordered pile for review and followed him down the short hall to the kitchen.

"Mr Potter, are you aware that there is flour in your hair? It is somewhat... undignified." He commented, restraining himself to a small sneer. Potter laughed; a rather pleasant, soft sound, much to Severus' surprise.

"It's icing sugar, actually; I'll have to have another shower to get it out. Not that I'm complaining though." He rubbed his cheek; Severus imagined that having icing drying on one's face could be itchy, not that he would have any experience, of course. He itched, himself, to cast a cleaning charm over the imp and drew his wand;

"If I may...?" Potter glanced at him and nodded, Severus was stuck with the fact that Harry didn't mind not knowing what he was about to do, with his wand pointed at his head. Foolish, idiotic and absolute trust. Severus gave himself a mental shake and cast the charm, directing it over face, hair and glasses. Oh how he wished he could destroy the blasted things... they made him look wholly too much like his father.

"Oh, thanks Professor." Potter went almost cross eyed, looking up at his fringe. He looked a little surprised, confirming that he hadn't realised what Severus was about to do. He sheathed his wand with a little flourish and swept past Harry with his head held high and a faint sneer, not deigning to reply.

The Weasley's were... civil, over lunch, much to Severus' satisfaction. Had he known sooner that facilitating the Paired Monsters would give him their respect; he would have done so in first year, and damn the rest of the school. Severus even found it within himself to approve of the plainly iced cake that Potter brought out in celebration of the elf's birthday; white with the requisite words painted on top in silver. The creature babbled and blubbered and Severus thought it a far more fitting monument to elf-Wizarding relations than the gaudy, overly oppressive Fountain of Brethren. He had to admit to being immensely pleased that the damn thing had been blasted into smithereens during the battle, even more so due to the damning revelation that the solid gold had long since been replaced by plaster and gilt by an ever-greedy ministry.

He smirked to himself, hiding the action from Potter to his left and Mrs Weasley across the table by taking a spoonful of soup, his poor mood effectively defeated.

As they finished the meal, a much-changed Kreacher arrived to clear plates and bowls. Layers of grime had been removed and revealed the pinkish gray of his skin. His... rags... Severus thought with a shudder of sneering disgust, had been exchanged for a clean pillowcase in the forest green that filled the house. Severus found himself begrudgingly pleased with Potter, to have made such an improvement in the elf's wellbeing, in just two days.

Severus could feel Potter's excitement, glee almost, after the candles were extinguished and a knife was passed to Dobby. Immediately suspicious, Severus glared at Potter, then at the cake, but uncovered no secret magic or tricks that could engender this anticipation. When the elf had cut the first piece, Severus groaned quietly and dropped his head into his hands so he could rub his temples. The sponge within the innocuous casing was in the brilliant colours of the rainbow, progressing from bright crimson at the bottom to purple at the top.

To his utter mortification, a soft, deep laugh came from his left;

"Sorry Professor, feel free to spell yourself colour blind..." He glanced up at an amused Potter, surprised to find him smirking, rather than jeering at him, and watching the distribution of cake.

"That will not be necessary, however if that monstrosity of a confection gives me a migraine, I will be _sharing it_." He growled, glaring at Harry, but it would seem that the damage was already done; his comment caused Potter to smile quirkily rather than retreat. His ... self-assurance, Severus decided to call it, was part of what generated the mature, adult impression he was giving off. Had Severus not seen him not an hour before with sugar in his hair and glace icing on his cheek, worried about Severus' reaction to his presence, he would have mistaken him for someone very old indeed.

"You'll be having some, then?" Harry, _Potter_, Severus corrected himself, shot him a pleased look, in response to which he gave a put-upon sigh and waved his hand in an 'as you please' gesture. Pleased graduated to smug before Potter settled down to his cake and Severus turned to his.

It was undoubtedly the source of the enticing vanilla scent he had detected earlier and Severus found it pleasing enough. He was equally pleased to note that the jam filling was raspberry and that the colours had no unpleasant flavourings associated with them, such as the sickly sweet tang of Tongue Changer solution.


	11. Chapter 11: London Bridge

_AN: approaching half way in the pre-written material!_

_**Edit: Omitted Scene added, almost 1500 words of important plot. Thanks to Post U Later for noticing the plot discrepancy and alerting me to it.**  
_

* * *

Chapter Eleven: London Bridge is falling down,

my fair Lady.

Harry and Ginny shared a proud look as Dobby extracted the first slice of cake; the look of colour-entranced wonder on his face was priceless. Mrs Weasley was soon remarking on the layering and swirling effect of the coloured mixtures and the Twins looked like they were getting ideas but it was undoubtedly Snape's reaction that entertained him the most. He was a little surprised that no comment was made comparing his cooking and potions making but he wasn't about to look a gift broom in the bristles.

He felt a quiet sort of satisfaction when the table went quiet as people tucked in, proving that the cake wasn't just pretty to look at. Even Snape savoured his slice; Harry noticed that he was careful to get a little jam filling on each forkful, prompting Harry to wonder whether the man had a penchant for raspberries, or just a sweet tooth.

Once everyone was finished, both generations lingered, the elder simply feeling full, while Ron, Ginny and the twins were avoiding returning to cleaning. Mrs Weasley shooed them off eventually while she and Dobby spoke about the modifications Harry had proposed to his shield. As the Weasley children disappeared upstairs, Snape pulled Harry aside for a moment. He shrugged easily and followed his dour teacher into the hallway to the Lab.

"Mr Potter, are you aware that I have, in recent days, had reason to cast diagnostic charms upon your person?"

Harry frowned very slightly, "Of course, Professor, I've been pretty messed up..." He felt a little shaky as he remembered why that was the case, but managed to keep a hold on his emotions. The look of age, of having seen too much grew stronger.

"Yes... quite. Your relatives..." Harry felt a little less cold when he heard the sneer in Snape's voice, glancing briefly at his face. It was only as he did so that he realised that he had been staring down at the floor. "Such treatment has consequences for both development and health, consequences that you have not escaped."

Harry felt heavy, then, like his limbs were made of stone. He found himself wishing that Snape would just spit it out, seeing that he was going to remain silent, Snape continued;

"I have brewed a nutrient potion for you to take at night, it will not fix everything, but..." the man's voice trailed off and Harry gathered himself together to look into his eyes, assuring his teacher that he need not worry about a loss of control.

"What are we talking about, here? What have the bastards done to me?" He retained his surface calm with an iron fist, beating back anger and resentment that would do him no good, at the moment. Snape did not hesitate before answering;

"You eyesight may improve, your stamina and resistance to illness certainly will, however I believe that... the window for growth has been missed. It is unlikely that you will gain significant height or bone mass, even under the influence of potions." It was obvious that Snape had slipped into some kind of medical training as he explained; it was somewhat detached and clinical, making the entire thing a little more bearable for Harry, but his face shifted not a moment later, growing subtly softer; "I... I am sorry, Potter."

Harry shook his head and gave his teacher a weak smile, even as he wrapped his arms around his middle and leaned back against the wall. "Don't apologise, Professor; it's hardly your fault." He let himself shiver briefly, "Besides, I think Hell just froze over." Snape grunted at that and Harry saw him perform the wand movement for a summoning charm. "Seriously, though, I knew I'd be short, it doesn't bother me that much."

"Very well. Do try and avoid breaking a bone. You are prone to doing so, and will remain as such." The potion bottle was pushed at him, complete with spidery instructions and a dosage dropper. He lifted it from Snape's hand, noting that the bottle was warm, as if the potion was very fresh indeed.

"I will sir, Skele-Grow is... not nice. And thank you, for, you know..." He stumbled over what he wanted to say, something along the lines of 'thanks for caring' or 'it means a lot that you've noticed', or something else equally mortifying.

"And here was I, believing you had matured. As eloquent as always, Mr Potter." Harry looked up at the potions master, noting the lack of disdain on his face, despite the sneer. It was familiar ground and now that it lacked the animosity, Harry could even say it was comforting. "Dismissed, you have a house to care for and I have much planning to do."

"Right, sir. Thanks. I'll see you later." Harry gave his potions mater a smile, having more sympathy for lesson planning now that he'd begun to think about doing it himself.

"Go, Mr Potter." Harry was already turning so he just gave a lazy wave and went back to the kitchen.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*~

That evening he took his potion as prescribed, it tasted like a combination of the dandelion and burdock drink that Hogwarts served at Halloween and boiled turnips so he chased it down with a glass of water from the jug on his bedside table.

After lunch he had joined the cleaning crew to work on the drawing room where he and Snape had had their discussion the night before. The twins had had to leave at about halfway through the afternoon, as they needed to open the shop the next day, which Harry discovered was a Monday. He, Ron and Ginny had de-doxied four sets of drapes, finished off the newly varnished table in the dining room with polish, beaten the moths out of three rugs in the weed filled back garden and fought back the convolvulus in said scrap of land.

Harry had been exhausted and Ginny and Ron were showing signs of flagging by the time dinner rolled around. Fortunately, it was a much less intense affair than the day before; the twins remained at their shop, and no Aurors or deputy-headmistresses turned up. It was much less formal with just Snape, Arthur, Mrs Weasley, Ginny, Dobby and Ron to worry about and Harry had had the chance to ask about some of the customs he'd noticed the day before. The majority had been excruciatingly dull but the occasional snippet caught his ear, like the reason people chose their own meat, while the elves served everything else directly. Mrs Weasley said that it had to do with rank and status; whoever was at the top of the pile got first pick of the cut.

He had retreated to his room after dinner, still tired from the battle and his accidental magic, to read the Animagus text. As he went to sleep that night, his belly protesting the potion slightly, he tried to generate the trance described in the book, one which would prepare his magic for the first stages of the transformation. He felt it slipping out of his grasp as the rough and tumble of his emotions took over, taking his magic with them, much to his frustration. As he settled into the snow he turned his mind away from the images of Dumbledore, Bellatrix and his Uncle and was left with Sirius, Prongs and his mother. He could feel his body crying as it lay immobile but comfortable while he retreated further and dropped into a shallow sleep.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Days followed roughly the same pattern, though the twins grew increasingly busy as the week progressed. Harry was glad to be able to spend time with his best mate, though Hermione's absence was felt. Harry sent Hedwig to her eventually, on his third day at Number Twelve, and received a reply bubbling with relief and scolding for not doing so sooner; she was in France again, had been forced to leave her school books behind and was a little grouchy.

The only oddness Harry felt were his occasional conversations with Snape. The professor was not toothless and still sneered and insulted Harry's intelligence, his coordination and so on, but Harry felt like they were somehow on equal ground. It didn't feel like he was being handed down Judgment, it was more like... banter. He even, tentatively, returned the favour, like he had with the cake for Dobby's birthday; never being disrespectful but still managing to find humour in the situation.

When the night of the thirtieth came, he lingered in the drawing room long after the Weasley's had left. Since Snape was in the Lab, he wondered over to the old piano that he and Ron had dusted and de-mothed. Kreacher had muttered something about it being shamefully out of tune and pointed a finger at it, causing it to play scales which slowly decreased in screech until the object sang immaculately. He pressed a key and the quiet note filtered through the house eerily... he backed away and didn't bother again; he didn't know any music and wasn't particularly interested in learning at this stage. It was just... the house was so quiet. Thoughts of Sirius, Remus, and his father all competed for attention as he whiled away the hours, despite his attempt to settle down with his Transfiguration text book.

It was nearing half eleven when he felt Snape going past the door. He wasn't sure if he'd heard footsteps or the rustle of robes but he looked to the open door in time to see Snape appear there. Harry had the fire and a number of candles lit so he supposed it was obvious that there was someone in the room.

"Mr Potter."

"Professor," At least they could greet each other cordially these days. It still caught Harry sometimes, this new civil relationship he had with the man, and he felt pleased at the fact each time he was reminded.

"You are aware of the obnoxious Red-Head mob that is due to descend upon this house in," He pulled out that silver pocket watch again and did a very brief calculation, "approximately nine hours and thirty minutes?"

"Yeah, I just..." He ran a hand through his hair and gave Snape a tremulous smile, "I have a tradition, see? I celebrate my birthday at midnight, in the first moment of the day."

Snape used his infamous eyebrow to indicate how strange this was and how he wished for an explanation, even as he swept his robes around his legs and sat on the sofa opposite Harry. He marvelled for a moment at how much information the man's eyebrow could convey before answering the silent request. He looked at the fire and screwed up his courage;

"Well... you see... my relatives never celebrated, _acknowledged_ even, my birthday. I had to find out when it was for a form when I was eight. And... they kept me so busy during the day that I didn't really have time, so..." Harry didn't look up from his intense study of the fire; he didn't expect Snape to mock him as he once might have, but it was still a difficult, vulnerable thing to speak of.

"I see." And Harry knew he did; there was a quiet understanding in the man's tone that made Harry relax. He settled back more comfortably into the repaired sofa cushions and they fell into a companionable silence. Snape had not put his watch back in his pocket and the soft, almost musical ticking joined the sounds of the fire as they waited. Nothing more was said until midnight, when the mantle clock chimed softly,

"Happy Birthday, Mr Potter." His voice was equally soft and Harry glanced up with a grateful expression. Snape nodded back at him and stood, sweeping out of the room to allow Harry his privacy.

Harry was more than just grateful, though... he was truly touched by the man's silent companionship and he trailed upstairs himself, with a warm feeling settling on his chest.

Waiting on his bed and desk chair were three owls; one from Hogwarts, clutching his school letter and presumably his O.W.L results. Hedwig was back from Hermione's and was clutching a small package and another letter, while the third owl was already disappearing out of the window by the time he reached the bed. He shoo'ed the school owl to Hedwig's perch for a snack and drink and sat down with his snowy on his lap to look at the gifts that had been left for him. The warm feeling in his chest intensified and his eyes began to sting; he wiped the back of his hand over them angrily, what would his friends think if they knew that they'd made him cry with their presents?

Hermione's letter was short and sweet, saying that she'd be there soon, to go to Diagon Alley and spend some time with the Weasleys. She didn't give a date, but that was ok; since letters could be intercepted, uncertainty was safer. Her gift was a small but ornately carved and heavy wooden box with golden hinges and lock; the key fell into his hand as he pulled open the paper. It was tiny, much smaller than his vault key, and he fumbled with it until he could get it into the delicate lock. The lid, carved with a round, short winged bird, was sprung and rose smoothly to reveal a golden snitch with its wings curled around itself. It was nestled securely in a velvet dip next to a note;

_For recreational purposes only! Activation phrase: Cervus elaphus. _

_Look after it, Harry._

_Love,_

_Hermione._

Harry gave a broad smile and picked the little ball of gold up. The makers mark showed that it was from the French branch of Quality Quidditch Supplies and a Grade P snitch, meaning it was for seekers practice. It'd be faster and more evasive, but less likely to disappear completely than a game snitch; they were designed to push the seeker to his limits, rather than delay the end of a match.

Now, Harry wasn't stupid, he'd worked out what Hermione was getting at and completely agreed; this year would be busier, more hectic and more stressful than the last, which had been bad enough. With N.E.W.T classes, the DA and Quidditch on top of the war, he'd need some way of... ducking out, sometimes. Flying really was the only time he could feel unburdened. It wasn't _relaxing,_ it was too exciting for that, but the thrill of the chase left no room for anything else.

The eccentric package that could only have come from Luna caught his attention next; it was carefully wrapped in a large sheet of parchment which had obscure animals drawn all over it which were animated to either run away from, attack, or turn invisible in response to his fingers. He smiled when he recognised, from her descriptions, a Blubbering Humdinger. In true, spooky, that's-just-too-convenient Luna fashion, the gift itself was a book on Duellers' healing, complete with a note wishing him happy birthday and offering her help on any charms he couldn't get.

A colourfully wrapped and slightly squashy package from Dobby contained socks, in a myriad of colours, gloves in maroon and a thick scarf in colour changing wool that shifted slowly between different autumn colours. As he handled them they warmed up spontaneously and he realised that they had a permanent heating charm on them. Hagrid's gift was on the same theme, maybe they'd collaborated; the brown parcel paper dumped a heavy winter cloak on his lap when he tore it. When he flicked it out he could see the fur lining, made up of what he thought were probably the pelts of Buckbeak's dinners. The fabric of the cloak was felted wool in the same maroon as the gloves and he snuggled into it as he curled it around his shoulders.

Cho Chang had sent him a box of fudge and he realised guiltily that he hadn't thought of his erstwhile-crush, turned 'lets just be friends, alright?' friend in a very long time. He resolved to send her a thank you note.

Neville's gift was last, since it was on the floor rather than the bed, and he unwrapped it carefully, since it felt like a plant pot. The small terracotta pot was full of slightly damp soil and had a protection charm that Harry couldn't identify on it, presumably to prevent the contents going everywhere during the owl journey. Neville's note said to leave the pot on his windowsill and _don't over water it! You always do that, Harry._

He grinned faintly and did as he was told, pulling the curtains closed behind it so it would catch the moonlight and dawn sun. Neville was a staunch friend and had gained some confidence in Herbology over the last few years, now Harry just wished that could spread to his other classes. His other gifts he put on his desk, next to the box of Weasley Twins products that he'd been riffling through.

Once he'd hung his wonderful new cloak up and changed into pyjamas, he slipped into bed feeling happier than he had in a long time. As he put his glasses on the bedside table and took his potion, he glanced at the book Remus had sent him and managed to smile before turning over and occluding his way to sleep.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Severus found Potter in the Hippogriff's nest again, the morning of the 31st. It was the first place he looked, this time, when the Weaslette reported him 'missing'.

The Weasley's had arrived earlier than usual and having become accustomed to seeing Potter working at the kitchen table, had sent young Ginerva to fetch him. Returning empty handed she had been rather concerned. Severus had slipped away unnoticed, just as Ronald was suggesting the library, ''e is turning into 'Mione, I swear.' Did the boy have no concept of grammar? Or manners? He'd had no desire to see that much of the boy's breakfast, already masticated.

He bowed to the over protective Hippogriff and was graciously allowed to see more than just Potter's hair, which, he noticed, had grown visibly in the past week. He looked pale, against the grey feathers; not enough sun, not enough sleep, Severus thought. Severus felt a moment of irritation at the dark circles under the closed eyes, feeling that he should have made the young man go to bed the night before.

"Thank you, Buckbeak. You do him a great service..." the beast seemed to approve of this, and Severus, and nudged him gently with a low rumble. "Yes, well. Don't get used to it." He gave the feathered head a brief ruffle before reaching to wake Harry up.

The bony shoulder was warm through Harry's dressing gown and he could feel the heat coming off Buckbeak's flank. He gave it a gentle shake and was rewarded by a low groan and a brief glimpse of green before Harry curled in on himself slightly and buried his face in the Hippogriff's feathers.

"Mr Potter, while I appreciate your unaccustomed silence, it is beyond time for you to join the land of the living." He shook Potter again, pulling him away from his source of warmth a little.

"Professor?" Severus huffed quietly and released Harry's dressing gown when his eyes fluttered open and stayed that way for longer than three seconds.

"Indeed, Mr Potter."

"Oh... bad night. Sorry." Severus tracked the boy's hand as he reached up to brush his fringe out of his eyes; it trembled very slightly and when he caught sight of the infamous scar it was red and inflamed.

"A vision?" He asked a little too sharply. Harry flinched back, into Buckbeak's flank, and the beast reprimanded Severus with a warning nip to his wide sleeve. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reminding himself of his decision to make peace;

"My apologies..." He lifted a hand, slowly and cautiously, to the scar, laying his cool fingers against it. Harry did not resist, he even closed his eyes and tipped his head back a little, as if he was enjoying the sensation. Severus wasn't surprised; the pinked skin was overly warm to the touch.

"'S ok. Yeah. He was pleased... Greyback got a reward for destroying something." Severus moved his hand to Harry's cheek to see if the heat of his forehead was due to fever or the scar's inflammation.

"Look at me," He requested quietly, satisfied that Harry wasn't feverish. Green eyes looked up at him with incredible openness; "Oh for chrisakes, Potter. I am not about to Legilimise you, feel free to keep _some_ of your barriers raised..." He murmured offhand as he checked Harry's eyes for reaction to light. It was somewhat impaired which, combined with the tremble, indicated that Potter had experienced at least some of the effects of the Cruciatus curse.

"You can, if you want... saw the whole meeting." Harry replied, petting the concerned beak that had been laid in his lap.

"That would be counterproductive, I believe, considering I witnessed it myself. Drink." Severus squatted back on his heels and withdrew a pain potion, number two, from his holster; Harry accepted it gracefully and obeyed. "How many times was the curse cast while you were witness?"

"Only twice, for impertinence. He didn't realise I was there. You were Called?" Some of the fog the young man seemed to be swimming through cleared, to Severus' satisfaction, though the symptoms remained; Severus doubted that he would take the post-cruciatus potion and willingly sleep half his birthday away, thus, a compromise.

"Indeed. The something in question was the Millennium Bridge, across the Thames. Though it has not reached the Prophet yet, the collapse was undoubtedly the work of Wizards. Greyback lead the attack." He moved back slightly and gripped Harry's upper arms, "Up, Mr Potter," he said, and hauled him to his feet. Buckbeak swiftly followed and provided a flank for Harry to lean on briefly.

"Thanks. Injuries? Deaths?" Harry looked hopeful but Severus could not give him the answer he wanted;

"Some. We will know more as the shift change frees some of our Aurors." Severus felt heavy as the hope vanished to the tired resignation that made Harry look so very much older than his years. He closed his eyes briefly and pulled himself together, even as Harry visibly did the same.

Severus watched with hidden concern as he let go of Harry's shoulders and stepped back; the tremors may or may not, as the case may be, affect Harry's legs. He seemed stable enough though as he stroked Buckbeak and thanked the beast in the gentlest of voices.

"Come, the Weasley's have already sent a search party, you are missed." Harry looked up with a soft smile, his eyes slightly unfocused. It was then that Severus realised that his glasses were missing and summoned them with a wave of his wand.

"Oh! Thanks, I was a bit... out of it, earlier." Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as the thick glass re-focused Harry's eyes. It was frustrating, this... something. Severus was frustrated, anyway.

"Indeed. In future, kindly call your blasted elf to fetch me. As your Healer, I will aid you through the aftermath." He turned away, still rubbing the bridge of his nose and avoiding the look of surprised gratitude on Harry's face.

_Potter, he is POTTER. Not Harry. A little decorum, Severus, propriety._

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Harry stared after the retreating back in a daze, no one had ever offered to help him through his nightmares... sure, Ron was there, but it was never explicit and this, _this_ was _Snape_! He pulled his thick dressing gown tighter around his torso and tugged the belt tight, dislodging a Buckbeak feather as he did so. The Hippogriff leaned down and plucked the large, soft feather off the floor and tucked it into his pile of straw, making Harry smile;

"Don't tell me you're getting all paternal now, silly Hippogriff..." He paused and smoothed the feathers over Buckbeak's shoulder, where he had ruffled them in his sleep. "Thank you, it means a lot."

"Harry! There you are!" He turned and gave Ron a broad grin, only having to force himself a little bit. "Come on, mate, there's pancakes! 'Morning Buckbeak." The Hippogriff trilled a reply at Ron's bowed head and nudged Harry towards the door. He was struck again by just how intelligent the creature seemed.

"Alright, I'm going, I'll bring you your dinner later, ok?" Harry said with a genuine grin, padding to the door. Buckbeak approved, going by the loud trill, and Harry let the door close behind him.

"Happy Birthday, mate. Now come on! Mum and Dobby are making a feast." Harry leaned into the arm Ron slung around his shoulders and laughed at him,

"Honestly, Ron, do you only ever think about food?" he said in his very best Hermione voice. Ron's face paled and he scruffed Harry's hair up more than it already was, which was, admittedly, quite an achievement.

"Don't _do_ that, mate! 's just creepy..." Harry just laughed at him and followed him to the kitchen.

Snape had vanished again, presumably into the lab, by the time Harry was being wished Happy Birthday by everyone, with great enthusiasm. Bill had made it over from Gringotts, much to his surprise, and gave Harry a warm pat on the back. Mrs Weasley came over last, once Dobby had gotten over his excitement and taken over looking after breakfast.

"Harry, dear, Happy Birthday..." she said softly as she pulled him into one of those fantastic, warm and immeasurably comforting hugs. "Alright, there? Slept in late, I see." She pulled back with her hands still on his shoulders as she looked him over. Apparently satisfied by what he was wearing; thick cotton pyjamas, an equally thick robe and some warm socks, she patted his hair down ineffectually and herded him towards his chair.

"Yeah, dropped in on Buckbeak and um... may have been nested for a while." He replied with a lopsided grin, Mrs Weasley nodded approvingly and bustled off.

There was already a lot of food on the table and he set in to the pancakes (with raspberries, this time,) as the twins perched on the arms of his chair and began ribbing him relentlessly about passing the age of consent. Harry was very entertained by the blushes Ron and Ginny sported at the topic, managing to keep his own blush down. Arthur shooed them away eventually and took the seat to Harry's right. He was once again vaguely surprised by how easily everyone fell into rank order; Mrs Weasley to his left, after an empty setting for Snape, then Bill, the twins, Ron and Ginny. He was very pleased to note that there was a place setting for Dobby at the end. He wasn't sure what to think about the hierarchical model that seemed so automatic, true it was tradition and served a purpose during Order meetings, but it was also pretty archaic and implied that he valued more senior individuals more highly than, say, Ron or Ginny.

He let it roll around in the back of his mind as he constructed a raspberry and cream pancake. Snape joined them then, placing a small potions vial on the sideboard as he passed it, and sitting to Harry's immediate left. That had been a constant pattern at the evening meal; Snape had solid seniority over the other Order members, excepting Professor McGonagall, and everyone knew it. Harry had detected some... disquiet about that, mostly from Moody, but Harry felt comfortable having the man at his left hand. Reading up on his family history had given him a bit of insight as to the position; while in the Muggle world, a leader's 'right hand man' was his man most trusted, in the Wizarding world, seating someone away from your wand hand, in Harry's case on the left, was a sign of trust. Trusting Snape to protect him was easy now, after having realised that the man had been doing it for so long already.

The first bite of his pancake was always the best and Harry gave a quiet hum of satisfaction as he savoured the sour-sweet raspberry juice, such a good combination. He let his thoughts drift to lighter matters and joined in the conversation. Arthur was just getting into a story about a singing and dancing teapot that had danced its way right into a muggle neighbourhood and Harry settled in to listen; munching happily on his pancake.

When he moved on to eggs and bacon, he realised that he'd managed to pack away significantly more food than he had a week ago, and unless he was reading the man completely wrong, Snape looked pleased, smug almost, about the fact. Harry couldn't help but recall the second evening at Grimmauld place, when Snape had been quietly insistent that he eat large amounts. For all that the man was... taciturn and reserved, he certainly seemed to care. Harry chuckled to himself; Ron would never believe him. Hermione would, so would the twins, and maybe even Neville, but he'd have to _show_ Ron, and that... well. He would never invade Severus' privacy like that again. Or Snape's, even. He gave himself a mental shake and listened in again;

"So you see; the man got away scot free! See, it wasn't a _Muggle_ artefact, he said it was just misplaced!" Arthur was looking equal parts amused, impressed and incensed. "He footed the bill for the Obliviation instead." Arthur was practically smirking and Harry saw the twins wince at that and he raised a questioning eyebrow. One of the pair, George, possibly, mouthed _later_ and Harry smirked, looking forwards to _that_ story.

Breakfast was mostly done and, in an unusual show of eager do-gooding, all the Weasley children helped clear the table. It became apparent _why_ when the contents of the sideboard were transferred to the table. Snape may have sneered at the brightly wrapped packages but Harry spotted the green-wrapped vial the man had added to it earlier, which Snape was pointedly not looking at.

There was another round of Happy Birthdays, which Snape didn't join in and the clamour for Harry to open presents began. He laughed at their eagerness and waved placating hands at the rabble.

"Alright, alright! Chill out..." He sat up straight in his chair and pulled the first package towards him across the table. As he did so he subtly palmed the vial, watching Snape out of the corner of his eye. There was a very faint shift of the shoulders and what could have been called a nod, and Harry understood. The vial went into his pocket, unnoticed by his adopted family. He attacked the paper on the present he'd used as cover with gleeful abandon. The tag said it was from both Bill and Charlie;

"We pitched in together, mate. You're such a good flier, so we figured you'd appreciate it." Bill looked a little nervous, grinning and scratching the back of his head, so Harry gave him a grin and opened the box, which looked like the shrunken Wizarding equivalent of a tool box, made of sturdy wood with the corners protected by brass. Inside were a book and a tidy set of leather straps, brushes and combs. The illustration on the front made it obvious that the straps were a halter for a Hippogriff and he inferred that the brushes were for grooming his fur and feathers. The Hippogriff in the picture looked very healthy, strong with its wings and crest brandished with pride and brushing the title; Grooming and Riding for a Healthy Hippogriff.

"Password's 'feathers together'. Same to shrink it again... um..." Harry still hadn't said anything, or looked up and he could tell that was making Ron's biggest brother nervy,

"It's great Bill. Thank you," He said softly, reaching out to touch the supple leather. It was obvious to everyone that he was touched, and remembering something bitter sweet, so Bill settled back and nodded to Ron to hand over his gift.

Harry drew his mind away from the image of Sirius riding out into the night on Buckbeak's back and went back to opening presents. After that, nothing affected him quite so deeply; Ron had given him a chess set of his own, saying that he'd actually get better if his own pieces weren't sabotaging his plans. Snape looked almost interested, which Harry filed away for later. The twins had made him a dragon hide wand holster, full of their tricks; it was summon-proof, for example, had room for a second, stolen wand which definitely not standard, and had the charm they'd used on their Headless Hat's on it. Because it was spread over his whole body, he was merely transparent, rather than invisible, but it was about as effective as a Disillusionment charm and more subtle than his Cloak. Ginny and Mrs Weasley had made him treacle toffees, moulded into Quidditch and Hogwarts' mascot's shapes, one of which he began gnawing on immediately. Arthur's gift was by far the worst; the literary equivalent of The Talk. Harry had looked at the book, then at Arthur, and back again repeatedly before gathering his wits and shoving the bloody thing in his pocket and trying to be less mortified.

The Twin's looked horribly, _horrifically_ knowing.

The potion in his pocket was dragging at his curiosity, however, so Harry gave his profuse thanks, gathered the three gifts left on the table after he'd hidden two and put a third on, (the holster was very comfortable, he decided,) and tucked them into his arms. Since he was still in his pyjamas, he had a perfect excuse and went upstairs to 'have a shower'.

He pulled the vial out, once he was safe in his room, pulled off the Slytherin green paper and read the note carefully;

_Your propensity for being recognised is not only unhelpful, it is dangerous. Application of this potion to certain distinguishing marks will prevent their detection for in excess of three hours. Use it well, it contains rare ingredients. Do NOT expect refills. _

_SS. _

Harry almost laughed at the strange little note, full of biting comment, but Snape had betrayed himself yet again by providing the potion in the first place. He put the squat vial next to the Snitch box from Hermione and grabbed some clothes to wear after his shower.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX _

_**((Beginning of omitted scene. My appologies, everyone.))**_

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

When he returned to the kitchen, half an hour later, it was chaotic, at best; there was flour everywhere and Mrs Weasley was railing at the twins. He raised an eyebrow and tried to see what was going on. When Ginny spotted him, she screeched and yelled at him to get out, so it was pretty obvious that they were making cake. He just grabbed the twins' collars and backed out with a big grin plastered all over his face.

"What did you _do_, Fred, George?" He asked as they made their way upstairs.

"Now that,"

"would be telling. It doesn't"

"matter anyway,"

"We were caught!"

Harry chuckled at the exaggerated gloomy expressions they were putting on and led them up to his room to test out some of their products. Harry personally thought the instant darkness powder was too much for selling to kids, so the twins moved it to their "Order Aurors" list. Harry suggested that they offer Headless Hats to Aurors too; looking around corners without being seen could be handy. They amused themselves for the most part with school-level tricks; Buckbeak kicked the wall and squawked at them when they were playing with the latest variation of Safari Sours. This prompted a Care of Magical Creatures session, using the grooming kit Bill and Charlie had given him. The twins were thrilled to have Hippogriff feathers to use in a variation of canary creams and Buckbeak revelled in the attention and gratitude.

Ron escaped the kitchen fairly soon, looking traumatized and floury, and they moved to the drawing room so he and Harry could have a chess game while the Twins were working on some of the prototypes Harry had tested. The Anything-but-Normal hair colour potion had worked, but had only changed once before giving out, so they were working on the formula diagram, looking for ways to make it last longer and change more often. Harry had spent an amusing half hour as a platinum blonde with turquoise roots, earlier in the week; it hadn't been a good look.

Ron was right about the chess pieces; Harry lost much more slowly now that he was getting good advice, but he did still lose in the end. Quidditch came up in the conversation eventually and all four of them got talking tactics for the next season, a topic which was far from exhausted by lunch, which was taken informally in the drawing room, and was continued into the afternoon, along with product testing and ideas, chess games and Exploding Snap.

It was more than pleasant and after the poor start to the morning, it was exactly what Harry needed; a mundane, stress-free, _normal_ day, during which he didn't have to _be_ anything but Harry.

The now-infamous cake appeared at dinner, but unfortunately so did Remus Lupin. Harry was standing by the table, speaking quietly with Bill, when the flames flared up. He stiffened as the man came out of the Floo; he had to try very hard to avoid losing control over both his magic and his expression. It was one thing to read a book filled with cheerful notes by his dead Godfather in _private_, where he could cry, close the book or even throw it across the room if he needed to. It was quite another to see the only remaining Marauder in person; Sirius and Remus were and forever would be firmly linked in his mind, seeing the werewolf could only bring up memories from Third year, where Sirius was ragged, starving and feral, and from the summer after Fourth.

He felt someone come up behind him, just to his left and managed to drag himself together by concentrating on the feel of Snape's dark, velveteen magic looming over him and weighing on his shoulders like a heavy, warm cloak.

"Remus, hey." He said very quietly, looking up at the tired, worn looking werewolf and only acknowledging Snape's help with the smallest of shuffling steps towards him. Remus looked much worse than he had at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries; his skin was lined deeply, bruised under the eyes... there were even fresh scars on his face, one trailing into his collar, despite the fact that Harry _knew_ Snape was still making him Wolfsbane.

"Happy Birthday, Harry." His voice was showing the strain too; deep and rough. "How're you holding up?"

Harry felt Snape's magic rise a little bit, disapprovingly, but couldn't work out why before he responded; "I'm fine, honestly. Let's just enjoy dinner, ok?" He gave the man a pleading look, begging him to realise that he wasn't ready to 'talk' just yet. The man nodded eventually and gave him a strained smile. Snape's magic calmed again and Harry felt him move away, though he could still feel that watching quality to his presence.

"How're you finding the book? Have you spoken to Minerva yet?" He asked as Harry indicated that they should approach the table. Harry noted that he would sit below the Weasley's, was that because he was younger? Or was it that he had a weaker association with Dumbledore? Harry didn't care to ask right then, it seemed best to just... let it happen. He was glad that he wouldn't have to sit next to the man the whole time, as guilty as that made him feel.

"Not yet, I want to read it first, see what I'd be getting into. It's looking good so far. The notes are... yeah, really helpful." _And difficult to read_, he added to himself; he often had to occlude after a reading session so he could sit back and look at what was written, the little quips and jokes, without worrying about his magic exploding everywhere. All the same, they were like having a teacher explaining what was going on and he knew he wouldn't understand as well as he did without them. "I haven't told anyone about it yet, not even Ron and Hermione, but I will eventually, and they'll want to join in." He said, looking up at Remus slightly challengingly.

"_Just what we need; more Gryffindors running around unsupervised and bestial..."_ Harry heard Snape mutter and had to quickly suppress a grin, the man was on his way to his seat, passing behind him again, so he didn't think Remus had heard the wry comment. The werewolf was still looking thoughtful;

"You understand that this ability could very well save your life, more-so if it is kept secret?" Remus commented, now slightly sceptical. Harry was insulted, both at this besmirching of his judgment and on the trustworthiness of his friends.

"We may not be bound into the Order by Oath, _Remus_, but they have fought battles beside me, trained beside me and stood by me for _years_. If I _ever_ have cause to mistrust Ron and Hermione, we have _far bigger_ problems than Tom Riddle knowing my Animagus form!" He bit out, practically snarling. Fortunately they were standing close together, slightly away from everyone else, so his growling went unnoticed.

"Of course, Harry... I'm sorry; you are, of course, correct." He looked pained for a second, "Our, my, experience with Wormtail has jaded me." Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath at the mention of that name, one still very loaded with anger and bad memories.

"He was a coward," He muttered, suppressing the evoked memories, "A coward and a fool. I have learned the lesson of the Marauder's mistakes; I will not 'keep' a person out of pity, don't worry about that, I've see what it did to _you_." Harry knew that would hurt the last true Marauder, but he couldn't leave Remus thinking that he, James and Sirius held no culpability in the mess that was the Potter family's broken Fidelus Charm.

"Harry... Merlin..." the man looked stunned, guilty, and Harry felt the need to lighten the burden, at least for this evening. He steadied himself and tried to regain his collection.

"Yeah, I know. Stay calm, Remus, and think on it. For now, I have a request for you." He paused to allow the man to regroup and run a shaky hand through his gray-speckled hair. "The twins have a project that could use your help; give them all the answers they need, as much as you can, anyway." He patted Remus' arm then squeezed it comfortingly, "They're men after the Marauder's hearts and they know what they're on about."

Remus still looked dazed and drifted away to his seat with a nod and a sad glance at Harry, who had already turned towards the head of the table.


	12. Chapter 12: the Good and the Bad

Chapter Twelve:the Good and the Bad.

Snape sat to Harry's right, Minerva McGonagall to his left, followed by Mrs Weasley and Arthur, then Remus and Bill, and the rest of the Weasley children.

The food was delicious, as usual, and Harry didn't need Snape's prompting to eat more, though the man gave it anyway, that eyebrow, by Merlin..! Dobby, Kreacher and Mrs Weasley had gone all out and dinner was quiet while people appreciated the food. It gave Harry a chance to forget about his conversation with Remus and the knot in his chest to melt away. When their initial hunger was sated and the meal became more relaxed, the twins began quizzing Remus on the Map and Patronii while Harry sought his teachers' opinions on how to run the not-so-secret DA in the coming year.

Harry had to admit that he was impressed by the cake when it was brought out; it was a whole Quidditch pitch made out of soft and syrupy ginger cake with melted and shaped sugar stands and goalposts. A lemon drop had been charmed to whizz around, with very tiny wings, in lieu of a Snitch.

The candles, four in each of the Hogwarts colour, their flames matching the wax, were perched on and inside the sugar-glass stands, lighting each one up in the appropriate colour. It was amazing and crawling with House Elf magic; he could feel Mrs Weasley's too, and grinned widely at her as he blew out the candles to a rousing chorus of "for he's a jolly good Wizard". Needless to say, Snape didn't join in, and Harry did notice that he was drinking his after-dinner coffee a little faster under the influence of the purposefully never atrocious singing of the twins.

Once the cake was served, McGonagall insisted that she and Harry talk about the future; his N.E.W.T's in particular, now that he had his O.W.L results. This generated some awkwardness over cake and mulled cider, since he hadn't gotten the O necessary to enter N.E.W.T potions, and the man was sitting right there. He ducked his head down and studied the golden sugar goal-hoop that Mrs Weasley had proudly stuck in his piece of cake.

"I may have been... um, premature, when I said I wanted to be an Auror, Professor. I can't imagine hunting dark wizards all my life now, not after the Ministry. Not to mention being subordinate to a politician." He didn't look up, even though most of the adults had fallen quiet. The twins were still being rambunctious so Ron and Ginny hadn't caught what he'd said, but the adults had and it had given them pause.

"I am sorry, Mister Potter..." He risked a glance and found his Transfiguration Professor, Mrs Weasley and Arthur all looking troubled. Snape looked... pensive, thoughtful. Remus was picking at his cake and Harry wondered if he was disappointed. "Nevertheless," She continued after a pause, "Potions underpins many courses of later study, Healing, curse breaking and even broomcraft, it would be advisable to consider retaking, at the very least." She sounded rather adamant; she hadn't lost her drive to see Harry succeed at all.

"I wasn't aware that that was an option, Professor." Harry asked, tilting his head slightly in question.

It was Snape who replied, however;

"Retake's are generally considered for those abject failures such as Crabbe and Goyle, not for students of Exceeds Expectations grade. Nor do we advertise their existence." Harry sneered in distaste at the thought of being relegated to the very bottom of the pack, not realising that he'd picked the expression up from Snape. Nor did he notice Mrs Weasley's suppressed amusement at this, as Snape was still talking. "There may be another option... Malfoy made a point of spreading our excuse last year, Remedial Potions, if you recall."

Harry nodded, "He couldn't let an opportunity like that pass, the little..." He silenced himself quickly; insulting Draco Malfoy was sheer habit, these days, and an inappropriate one at that.

"Quite. He may prove useful again, in the same capacity. Our 'lessons' last year were supposedly forced by Dumbledore; your presence in N.E.W.T classes can be explained in the same way." Snape looked at Harry at this point and paused a moment so that he would meet his eye. "However, there is a reason I do not accept sub-par students; the potions on the sixth year curriculum are highly dangerous, volatile substances." Harry swallowed nervously; since he hadn't had a chance to practice actually brewing potions over the summer, he had no idea if his study had actually improved his skills. He thought there was a good chance, now that he understood more, but still... The intense look on Snape's face was as intimidating as ever. "You have proven recently that you are determined in your studies, however, I will require you to prove that you are not a danger to me, yourself or your classmates, even under pressure."

Well that sounded fun. He swallowed and nodded, "Thank you sir, I appreciate the chance."

"Indeed. Happy Birthday, Mr Potter." Snape replied sitting back in his chair, with his coffee, and waving the whole conversation away. Harry blinked twice, was that... had he made a joke? Was he playing off a gruelling test as a birthday gift? Really? Harry sat back himself, drinking a little more of the hot cider he'd come to genuinely enjoy, and chuckled to himself in bemusement.

McGonagall looked pleased with herself, breaking off a section of Gryffindor red sugar glass to reward her efforts with. Harry kept his amusement to himself on that account and polished off his piece of cake, which was delicious, and began sucking on his sugar glass goal post. He tried to avoid seeing the suggestively waggling eyebrows of the twins and Bill's amused grin at the potential innuendo of the whole exercise. When he couldn't even pretend not to notice it anymore, he retaliated; with an amused smirk of his own he bit clean through the hoop with a loud 'snap', making the three boys wince. Ginny had obviously caught on and suppressed a full blown laughing fit behind her hand. He returned their winces with an evil grin, earning a small but amused smirk from Snape. Fortunately, McGonagall and the Weasley parents remained oblivious.

"Oh! Bill, Buckbeak enjoyed my gift. Well; so did I, but you know what I mean." Harry said to change the subject away from such a potentially embarrassing topic. "He kept nibbling on my hair and clothes though,"

Bill was grinning widely and Mrs Weasley had that 'isn't that sweet', indulgent expression on her face. "I'm glad; they're herd animals, lots of mutual grooming!" He said, looking self-satisfied.

Harry conceded, "I suppose I'll treat it as a sign of affection then, though I think he sees me as a foal, rather than a... a flock mate, or whatever." He said with great affection in his voice, colouring slightly. Snape snorted quietly into his coffee mug in agreement, while Mrs Weasley cooed at the image, much to Harry's irritation.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do while you're at school? There won't be someone here every day, anymore." Arthur piped in curiously. Harry glanced at his plate, picking up the last bits of sugar and sucking on them to give himself time to think.

"I... I don't want to leave him behind. He was so pleased to see me, to have company, that it obviously means a lot to him." He flicked his gaze up at his dinner 'guests', seeing that Arthur was nodding approvingly, and gained in confidence slightly. "If I can find a way to prevent him from being recognised, I'd like to take him back to the Hogwarts' herd. I'll speak to Dumbledore about it, if there's time, next time I see him."

"Professor Dumbledore, Mr Potter." Snape added in his low, gravelly voice, raising an eyebrow at him over his coffee. He blushed and mumbled;

"Right, sorry. I mean no disrespect, honest." Snape was just emptying his mug and set it down on the table as he stood.

"Quite, Mr Potter. Perhaps you should speak accordingly." The Professor looked almost amused, to Harry's surprise, "Enjoy the remainder of the day. If you will excuse me?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. Thank you," Harry stuttered as Snape inclined his head and swept back towards the lab. He watched the black robed back retreat, something he seemed to be doing with increasing frequency recently, still slightly in shock. "Did you hear? He wished me happy birthday. Twice." He said in a distracted voice.

"Indeed, Harry," came McGonagall's voice, sounding distinctly amused and with a stronger Scottish drawl than usual. "I believe you impressed the man, the very first day you joined us for dinner, and have continued to do so."

Harry looked at her, blinking; all he'd done was what he felt needed doing. He felt a little more... understanding of Dumbledore's position now, when he could think about the man without erupting into anger. Thinking of the Headmaster, Harry was surprised that he hadn't seen him yet; he would've thought he'd be along while Harry was still laid up, as was his habit, from the after effects of the 25th of July. As it stood, he had a faint feeling of unease when he thought about the man; this was so out of character...

McGonagall must have seen the conflicting emotions on his face; "I know ye've right to be confused with him, Harry, he has a most complicated and difficult role to play in this fight. But, today is not the day for such thoughts!" He smiled that old, tired smile that made him look so beyond his years, realising that she was still talking about Snape. Her expression tightened slightly,

"You're right Professor, it's just... unfair. On everyone involved." He said with a faint frown, deliberately not thinking about anything that could bring his more volatile emotions to the surface, specifically Dumbledore; he would deal with them later, alone. He put an apologetic quirk on the corner of his mouth and lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "We shall see. In any case, I believe it's time to adjourn to the Drawing room, it's looking pretty good at the moment." He said, clearing his head and trying to reclaim his cheerful, mischievous mood. "You're welcome to stay for the evening, if you wish." He said in an almost formal tone, with a welcoming smile in his eyes, as he stood. Over a week of intermittent dinners with his Head of House, he had found her company entertaining; between her mastery in Transfigurations and her Deputy Headship, she was a very intelligent woman and more than capable of making engaging conversation. They had spoken at length one evening about the spells he had cast at the battle, ending in a lively debate about the role of intent in Transfiguration.

"No, I must be getting back; you enjoy your evening, Harry." She said with a ruffle of his hair, he was slightly surprised by the informality of it, but accepted the gesture all the same. He suspected that she found him cute when he played the role of the Head of a Most Noble and Ancient House, but couldn't find it in him to be truly annoyed by it.

The Weasley's and his Head of House stood with him, dropping napkins onto plates and finishing drinks. He was very pleased to see smiles and grins all 'round, Ron and Ginny were laughing about something at the other end of the table and he hoped that Mrs Weasley would let them stay for the evening. Whether the ever-perceptive Mother saw his look or not, she agreed with his sentiment;

"We'll be heading back, now Harry. You'll send Ron and Ginny home when you get tired of them, won't you?" She fussed over him as she rounded the table and he tipped his head back to accept the kiss on the cheek that he'd learnt to expect.

"Of course I will, Mrs Weasley. It'll be before midnight, I promise." He said, knowing that he was still getting over the insomnia he had subjected himself to for the first month of the holiday. She looked at him sceptically, trying to work out whether he was being conservative for his sake or hers, and was apparently appeased by whatever she saw.

"Whatever you think is best, Harry, dear. I'll see you in the morning. Be good boys! Ginny!" There was a chorus of 'yes, Mum!'s that made Harry grin; they sounded much younger than they were when they did that. The twin's tones were a little... ominous, but never mind. Arthur patted him on the shoulder as he passed, on the way to the Floo, giving Harry a simple 'good night' and coaxing Mrs Weasley away with reassurances that there would be some adult supervision, in the form of Severus Snape.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, you lot!" Remus added, looking far less subdued than he had earlier.

"Anything, then?" called one of the twins and Remus shook his head, turning back to Harry.

"Cheeky sods. I'll see you in a few weeks, for the Diagon Alley escort, good luck with the book, and this lot, ok?" He said, patting Harry on the shoulder. He nodded back at the man and gave him a reassuring smile.

"I'll see you then. Look after yourself."

Four flares of green later and the younger generation were alone. Bill, as the eldest, led the way to the Drawing room solemnly, though Harry could tell that he was fighting a grin. The twin's sandwiched him between them, with arms around shoulders and waist, to 'escort him' upstairs. Ron and Ginny followed, bringing cake and mulled cider. Dobby could be heard muttering about how he was 'being very happy for Master Harry Potter Sir, but he is not to be making messes!'.

Harry laughed at that, stifling it to avoid waking Ms. Black, and was glad that he'd negotiated the twins down from bringing fire whiskey and Slovakian Vodka. They had become very serious when he'd told them that he couldn't afford to let his guard down like that and had repeated their offer to turn him into something non-Legilimise-able. He had closed his eyes, taken a deep breath and trusted them. There had been no glee on their faces, no indication that they would take advantage, and Harry knew he had been correct in his decision. They had informed him of their progress the day before and he was looking forwards to an hour by himself sometime in the near future. The weekends were busiest at the shop, they explained, though they had taken the previous one off, to be at Number Twelve for Harry's sake, so it would probably be midweek, sometime. He was really rather touched that they'd taken the time off for him; they were turning out to be steady, reliable... even if half of that was that you could rely on them to surprise the stuffing out of you, on a regular basis.

Conversation started up again on the first floor landing and Bill held the door open for his siblings, adopted and otherwise. Ron and Ginny were talking about the DA and the twins warmed to the subject, lamenting to Harry that the group would never be the same again, not without them. Harry snorted in exaggerated disbelief as he untangled himself from them and claimed some sofa. They looked appropriately affronted and made dramatic gestures while kneeling in front of him,

"But Harry! My Lord,"

"Great Chosen One!"

"Such cruelty, to our"

"Delicate hearts!"

"Wounded,"

"Wounded!"

"Oh pack it in and get off the damned floor!" He reprimanded eventually, acknowledging that they could give as good as they got; as if that had ever been in doubt. Hot cider was poured for those who wanted it; Bill and Ginny popped open butterbeers, and the Twins joined Harry on his couch. Bill had taken the armchair while Ginny had sprawled out on the other sofa, with her feet in Ron's lap. He didn't look too pleased about that, but all was made well when the twins passed him his drink.

And so it began.

The twins had added ... various things to the cider, something slightly different for each person, Ron had Safari Solution in his, the basis for the twin's Safari Sours, and his voice came out in a melodic screech that Harry thought sounded like a hawk. Laughter turned into a zoological cacophony as people tried their drinks, much to everyone's good natured amusement. Even Bill and Ginny were not left out; Harry, not to be out-done, had booby trapped the bottles of butterbeer he'd had Kreacher set aside earlier, using Prank Paper. It pretended to be a bottle label while lying in wait to unleash its charm upon the unsuspecting drinker. Their skins turned various amusing shades of yellow, purple, blue, red and green. All at once. In patterns.

Harry felt very smug about that combination of WWW products. Once the first round of pranks had worn off, everyone was feeling mellow; worn out by the laughing and grinning like fools. This was all the cue the twins needed to start on their 'make Harry spontaneously combust through embarrassment' campaign, which was by all accounts very successful. Eventually, the teasing overrode his miss-giving and he admitted that he was in fact bi-sexual. A slightly tense moment followed as Harry and Ginny's gazes caught each other for a second.

"You're like a brother to me now, Harry, please don't... um..." She looked away as if worried she might have hurt his feelings. He smiled lopsidedly and felt a rush of relief and warmth at her simple but loaded words.

"I couldn't ask for a better sister, Gin." He said in an equally soft voice, raising his glass slightly. "To family!"

The others joined in, raising their glasses a moment after him and repeating the sentiment. Once drinks were drunk, Bill cut in;

"Well then, as a brother, I feel it is my duty, duty! To embarrass the pants off of you! So, who, when, where and why, Harry? C'mon, spill!"

Harry made like a fish, to the amusement of everyone in the room and turned beetroot red, determined not to answer.

XX*XX*XX*XX*

Tuesday, August 5th, 3:07 AM

The dark surrounding Harry wasn't the natural blackness of night-time, or even the sickly dark of heavy cloud; it was impermeable, cloying and icy cold. There was something about the mist, oily and constantly shifting, that provoked dread, despair. He knew there was something he could say to make it go away but he had no voice; the sensation of magic rose within him, but there was no spell to release it into. The gray mist just swirled endlessly, coming together into almost recognisable shapes before tearing them apart again. It was getting darker and those human-yet-not figures were lasting longer, approaching closer, with each passing breath.

He knew that the sun was fierce above the mist, he could feel the warmth of it against his chilled skin, but the spell that would let him see it escaped him again. He was so cold...

The feeling of inevitability crept up on him as he recognised those black shapes that glided through the gray mist that hung like a veil, parting for the foul creatures,

Click. Footsteps.

The sounds echoed, eerily unaffected by the mist and he spun, looking frantically for the source of the sound, but when he turned all the way around, the figures that had been approaching were suddenly right there. The feeling of sun on his skin intensified but wasn't enough to fight back the choking cold. Black cloaks and skeletal hands filled his vision as he reared back, impacting into something soft but unyielding, unable to escape.

Potter.

The voice was urgent and, like the footsteps, somehow other, un-muffled by the mist and the black fabric wrapping around his body and neck. The sun was hot now, burning and felt like it could burst through at any moment.

Harry!

As a scaly, decaying face leaned down towards him, he opened his mouth to scream and the sound rang clear and pure despite the thick air and scent of rot.

SMACK.

A bright shaft of light whipped the creatures away just as a sharp pain on his cheek made him draw an impossibly deep, shocked breath. He sat up abruptly, his eyes snapping open and chest heaving with the exertion of thrashing and screaming.

"Harry Potter! Harry! Look at me!" He obeyed, looking up at the face to whom the robes he was clutching belonged to. His hands ached with how tight he was gripping the fabric and his skin was cold, clammy and covered in a faint sheen of sweat. Snape's usually forbidding scowl was gone completely, replaced by a battle-ready alertness through which Harry could see the man's concern. He tried to apologise for waking the man up but his chest was still heaving and he couldn't get the words out.

A warm, dry hand pressed against his forehead and piercing black eyes held his gaze. "Quiet, Harry. Breathe." He leaned into the hand and closed his eyes, letting Snape's voice wash over him, and trying to control his breathing. It was hard, very hard; he could feel that there was still something wrong, the lingering sensation of darkness and cold wouldn't go away. After a few faltering attempts, Snape took Harry's hand and pressed it to the side of his ribcage, against Snape's silky-soft sleep shirt. He could feel the shift of his chest as he breathed and the thrum of a powerful heartbeat under his fingertips.

"Feel, nice and slow..." Harry nodded dizzily and, with a deep shuddering breath, dropped his head forwards onto the man's collarbone, surrounding himself in the feel of Snape's magic, the warmth of his robes and that gentle rhythm, in... out...

"Ok, I'm ok now." He said shakily and with some urgency, once he'd caught his breath, "But there's something not right,"

The deep voice rumbled and Harry could feel it against his hand and forehead, where they rested against his professor. "You are correct. Something Dark, malevolent, has been brought into the wards, we may be under attack." Harry shuddered violently as he felt exactly what Snape meant; like the Dementors in his nightmare, something lurked nearby, dangerous and hungry. "Were you having a vision?"

"N-n-no, just a nightmare. I... I think I feel it, though. Merlin, it's unpleasant..." A familiar hand slipped into the pulse point at his neck and he fell quiet while Snape counted against his pocket watch, still leaning against the man somewhat pathetically. Thirty seconds later, the potions master seemed appeased and lowered his hand.

"You are the Ward Holder; that is unsurprising. Can you stand?" He asked, getting up off the side of the bed and staying close, just in case. "I cannot leave you unprotected while I investigate."

"I... yes. I think so." He said, the dizziness mostly gone, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He took his glasses and wand from the bedside table and saw Snape's eyebrow rise in approval of the way the fine holster buckled itself onto his right arm. "Yeah, I'm fine. Cloak?"

"If by that, you mean invisibility, then yes." Snape replied; stepping away now that he was sure Harry was well. "Hurry." He cracked the bedroom door open, peering down the darkened, empty hall.

Harry rubbed his hands through his hair to blow away some of the proverbial cobwebs and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from the wardrobe, being careful with the door to avoid noise. With how loud he must have screamed earlier, the quiet creak in the old oak was largely irrelevant, but his instincts were urging him to be quiet and small; invisible. He activated the charm on his wand holster, going mostly transparent, and then swept the cloak over his shoulders as he joined Snape.

"Downstairs. The Floo, I believe." Snape's voice was quiet as he glanced at Harry's translucent head. "Defensive spells only, and only if necessary. Leave the elves asleep for now; their Apparition would only alert an intruder." Harry nodded, his transparent head bobbing, before pulling the hood of the Cloak up and disappearing entirely.

"Lead on, I'll hang back a few steps, so we have room to dodge. Good luck." Snape looked grim but unafraid as he nodded back and pushed the door open, advancing swiftly and quietly towards the stairs, Harry followed with a little less grace but managed to stay quiet, his body tense and tightly controlled.

The stairs posed no problem, Kreacher had been at them and the solid oak no longer groaned, so they soon approached the kitchen door. There was a faint noise on the other side and a line of light under the door indicating a fire. Snape's hand came up, holding three fingers, and Harry readied his wand as they folded down one by one. Once his fist was completely curled, Snape pushed the door open swiftly and stepped into the light. Harry hung back, ready to cast a shield over the Professor at the first syllable or flash of light.

He was surprised when the man cursed and dropped his wand arm to his side, rushing forwards out of view. Harry followed, keeping his footsteps light, just in case. He wanted to swear, too when he saw Professor Dumbledore sitting on the stone hearth, leaning back against the surround, his arm smoking.

* * *

_AN: le cliffhanger! What HAS Dumbledore been up to?_


	13. Chapter 13: Sacrifices and Tears

_AN: WARNING, graphic description of burns, but Harry's on top of it and it turns into /comfort by the end. _

_Enjoy._

_Next Chapter: Thursday_

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Sacrifice and Tears

Snape stalked quickly to Dumbledore's side, wand flicking in a diagnostic pattern and looking decidedly concerned. Harry scanned the room carefully; he still felt that terrible unease. If anything it was _stronger_ than before, close.

There was no one else in the House though. He thought that it was probably the wards working but he _knew_, with complete certainty, that there were only five sentient creatures, three of whom were wizards, and Buckbeak in the building. Snape's wards to the lab were unbroken too, so he felt safe turning back to his Headmaster.

Dumbledore was panting in pain, with his left hand clutched tightly to his chest and looking nothing like the proud, immutable Headmaster that Harry had long thought him to be. There was a thin layer of grime all over him, his clothes, hair. Harry even detected cobwebs. Smoke was rising from his wounded hand and Harry could smell it, rank and hot.

He identified the curse, or whatever was hurting the Headmaster as the source of the unsettled feeling, then. Looking at the black, shrivelled skin multiplied the sensation three-fold.

"This is very dark magic, Headmaster, I don't know if it's possible to..." Harry could hear the emotion in his voice and knew that Severus was _afraid_.

"Just... do what... you can, Severus..." Dumbledore's voice was dry and interrupted by pants as he tried to keep himself together. Snape's hand's were visibly shaking so Harry stepped forwards and pulled the Cloak off, disabling the holster's charm at the same time. He put a hand on Snape's shoulder and squeezed gently, hoping that he wouldn't be brushed off for his efforts.

"What do you need, Professor?" He asked, addressing either of the two men; it didn't really matter. Snape's shoulder moved slightly under his hand as he drew a deep breath and the shaking stopped.

"One bottle and one vial of Curse Containment potion, size two silver lined cauldron, two doses of Pain Killer number two, I am sorry Albus, but you must remain conscious." Dumbledore's uninjured hand tightened convulsively around Snape's left and the man winced, "There is a vial of phoenix tears, in the secure case on the back bench, password 'semblance', bring it, and a tub of burn paste, number one."

Harry gave the man's shoulder another squeeze before jogging to the lab. As he slipped out of the kitchen, he looked back towards the Floo and saw that Snape had raised Dumbledore's hand and bent his head to touch the clenched knuckles; he looked like he was praying. Harry hurried.

The potion's around the edges of the lab were stored in the same way as the one's at school, in the Hospital Wing, so he gathered them quickly, snatching up a padded vial box to carry them in. He hung the head-sized cauldron on his arm and headed to the chest on the back bench that Harry could feel was heavily warded. He muttered the password quickly and extracted the correct ingredients vial. The tiny, pearlescent droplets split apart and ran together beautifully and Harry knew he had the right thing. He held it securely in his fist, the vial box in his other hand, and, carefully this time, returned to the kitchen.

Snape was deep within spell work when he shouldered open the door; Albus was lying on the table, much as Harry had done the first day at Grimmauld. Thick strands of magic weaved around his body, sinking into him and glowing brilliantly, everywhere except his arm. It lay dark and blackened, giving off a thick black smoke that twisted unnaturally against the arcs of magic poised above it.

"Fill the cauldron with Containment Potion, and hand me the vial. Quickly, Potter!" The sharp tone of voice betrayed little of the panic and anxiety Harry could see in Snape's eyes but the faint tremor of his hand was clear. Harry placed the vial in his hand and made sure the man's fingers had closed over it before letting go. He quickly returned to the cauldron and upended the bottle of potion into it and pushed it within reach of Snape.

The magic in use was heavy and made the air thick; Harry had the sneaking suspicion that he would be carrying Snape to his bed later, the amount of magic he was using. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Snape poured the potion into Dumbledore's waiting mouth, he could smell the stuff in the cauldron and was worried by how passive Dumbledore was; it had to have tasted utterly foul, and yet the man barely reacted. He looked away, unable to watch the one wizard Voldemort was afraid of, the wizard who was leading the fight against Him, as he fought for his life. Already the man's skin was pale, papery and his breathing laboured.

"The pain potion." Snape didn't look away from the Headmaster's arm, specifically the spell he was weaving over it. "Give it to him now, Harry. Before he goes into shock."

He uncorked a vial of the potion, breaking the seal, and crossed behind Snape quickly to offer the potion up to the Headmaster's mouth. Dumbledore's eyes were still open, at least, and he drank the foul liquid with relief. There was a brief pause as all the spells went still, Snape had put his wand away, and Harry felt sad blue eyes on him. Looking down at the Headmaster, he met that gaze and his throat tightened abruptly.

"Harry... you weren't supposed to know... I'm sorry..." His eyes slipped closed and he swallowed with difficulty before taking a shuddering breath. Harry very gently brushed the long white hair back, off Dumbledore's face.

"Hey, shhh... it's ok, we'll look after you..." He said gentling his voice, a quick glance at Severus showed that the man was working very hard indeed, with everything he had asked for within arm's reach. He was just adding phoenix tears to the burn paste. "We made up, like you always said, sir. He's going to let me take Potions next year." He said, babbling anything to keep the Headmaster calm and awake, laying a faintly shaking hand on his cheek. The man's skin was burning up with fever and Harry's chest burned in sympathy and his magic surged. He looked up at Snape pleadingly; the Professor nodded and braced himself, taking up his wand. The spells started moving again, then, sinking into Dumbledore's body and forcing the black smoke back into his hand, stopping its advance up his arm.

"My boys... so proud..."

The Headmaster's words dissolved into a groan of pain; he turned his head into Harry's hand and scrabbled at the wood with his free hand. Harry quickly took it up, rounding the table slightly to reach. Dumbledore's grip was shockingly strong but Harry ignored the feeling of bones grinding together, glancing anxiously between the Headmaster and Professor Snape. His eyes widened as he saw Snape down the second potent painkiller himself, looking grim and determined. He lifted Dumbledore's injured hand and was pulling something off his finger and Harry looked on with alarm;

"Professor, what are you-" He was cut off by a brilliant flash of orange-red light and he threw his torso over Dumbledore's to protect him. He heard a hiss of pain and then a soft 'plop' as Snape dropped the cursed object into the cauldron of Containment potion. The light vanished immediately and Harry was left blinking away the spots in front of his eyes. He stood up quickly, checking over Dumbledore for further injury. A heavy sigh of relief escaped him when he saw blue eyes blink open slowly before closing again. He looked more peaceful, in less pain, than he had before, and the smoke was gone. His hand was blackened, though, shrivelled and dead. His breathing had slowed and deepened so why could Harry still hear pained panting?

He looked up to find Snape leaning heavily on the table, his hands cradled close to his chest, covered in the red, bleeding burns of handling something incredibly hot, unlike Dumbledore's shrivelled, blackened skin.

"Shit." Harry felt he was justified in his expletive. He quickly returned to Snape's side and kicked out a chair from under the table to sit the man in. He grabbed the modified burn paste with frantic hands, shaking so much that he almost dropped the entire thing while he was getting the lid off.

"Mr... Potter, calm... please." Snape gasped out, tipping his head to lean against the chair back, his black hair cascading away from his neck and making him look incredibly exposed. Harry nodded and drew a deep breath so he could slow his hands down to a reasonable and successful speed.

"You knew this was going to happen, bastard." He snapped as he scooped out a large handful of the medication. The smell of burnt meat was making Harry increasingly nauseous and he held his breath as he gently turned one of the burned palms outwards to apply the paste. Snape hissed and twitched at the obviously painful movement and Harry winced right along with him; the entire palm, undersides of the fingers and thumb were raw where the skin had come off and black where it hadn't. The wounds were oozing blood and plasma around the edges and it was all Harry could do to apply the paste without throwing up.

"I... did. The Headmas... Master, will survive." Snape's voice was horse from the rattling breaths he was taking to keep himself together, "Cursed... ring. Do not... touch th... the cauld'n..."

He bit the inside of his cheek as he straightened one of those thin, elegant fingers out and the skin cracked. Needless to say, the man stopped talking. His groans and whimpers were almost beyond what Harry could cope with and cloying horror turned his stomach. When the first hand was done and the paste had sunk into the skin and toughened, Harry reached for more; if he paused now, he wouldn't be able to start again.

Snape's healed hand came up involuntarily to grip Harry's pyjama top, clenching in the fabric against the pain. Harry held it against his chest for a second, for his own comfort, hoping that the coating of paste would hold against the rough treatment Snape was giving it. He then reached for the man's other hand, his right. This burn was wand-handle shaped and smaller, but so _deep_ that Harry could see scorched bone, and it made Snape's whole body spasm and shake when Harry had to flatten the curled fingers out.

Harry realised that cold sweat was covering his forehead when some dripped onto his glasses. He wiped his face with his sleeve; it would be categorically Not Good if he managed to contaminate the wounds. He had never been more glad for the efficacy of Snape's potions; the skin rippled and grew even as he drew the paste over it. The tiny flecks of glowing gold sunk into the mess like rain on thirsty soil and turned nasty burns into fresh skin, while the orange paste formed a tough, flexible layer over the top to protect the vulnerable surface. He sent silent thanks to the Phoenix who had felt Snape was worthy of using its tears.

Snape's breathing deepened and levelled out as the phoenix tears worked and Harry felt a warm, heavy weight rest on his collarbone; Snape's head had fallen forwards and the man was leaning on him, his hand still clenched weakly on his top. When he spoke, he sounded so very tired that Harry slipped a hand to the back of his head to help him keep upright;

"No one can know... Albus' reputation... only just recovered," It was clear the man was utterly exhausted, but at least he wasn't gasping in pain anymore.

"I... I think I can lock the House down..." He said, tentatively as he glanced over his shoulder at the peacefully-unconscious Albus. Turning back he carefully lifted Snape's head with one hand to his cheek and the other on his shoulder, he looked like anything would be too much effort right then. "But... I don't think I can look after you both, on my own, not without magic." Black eyes blinked slowly and Harry worried for a second that they'd not open again.

"Idiot... Kreacher. Mrs Weasley," The elf's name didn't quite have that commanding ring to it that would summon the old servant but the point was clear. The weakness and raspy quality of the man's voice was almost a horrifying as seeing his long-fingered hands so ruined; it was so different from the commanding presence, the booming, dark rule he held over classroom and corridor. With that thought came the realization that _he couldn't feel the man's magic_ and that worried him more than all his other symptoms combined.

He took a deep breath, willing the unease that had been started by seeing his Headmaster in such a state and had only grown since to diminish so that he could function. Once he was collected, Harry repeated the Black family elf's name with authority, apologising quietly for the flinch his volume caused Snape.

"Kreacher. Take Headmaster Dumbledore to the Blue Room," He could, at least, guarantee that one was clean; he'd done a lot of the work himself. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking through his command. "Treat him with respect and care for his needs as you would your Master's, until you are relieved of this duty. Go."

"Good... Wards, next." He heard Snape mumble once Kreacher and the Headmaster disappeared up the stairs, Dumbledore floating peacefully behind the elf. Harry mentally crossed his fingers that the man would be ok.

"His wound; does it need anything else? You look like you might sleep for a week, no offense." He said trying for humour and failing. He pressed Snape back into his chair and looked into his eyes with concern; the pupils were dilated and didn't react when he exposed them to the firelight.

"No... nothing. Curse you, Potter... close the wards!" Snape looked as agitated as his words sounded and Harry really didn't think he should be expending energy like that.

"Right, sir, just... give me a second." He closed his eyes, only half realising that he still had his hands on the professor's bare skin, cradling his head and shoulder gently. He concentrated hard on two things, trying to marry them into a reasonable working model; the feeling he had encountered at the door to Buckbeak's room and the Ward Charms he had studied under Flitwick. The wards had just _known_ that he was to be let through... he was their Master, and Ward's had to listen to their master... Now the House Wards had to 'just know' that no one was to be let in.

A map of brilliant colour exploded into his mind; in the same way that he had felt Snape's magic as dark, velveteen, the House's wards felt _heavy_ and complicated. He could see the Fidelus, over the top in a shifting layer of phoenix red and gold, while the Black Family magic was green, gold and black, laced firmly underneath, between the House and the surrounding muggle world. He gave the order and that lattice twisted so the gaps that had been left open snapped shut. That left only the Floo, he realised as he exhaled heavily and opened his eyes.

Snape had obviously felt the ward's shift, as he had when Dumbledore had arrived, and had fallen calm again, loosing that anxious edge.

"Dobby!" Harry called, causing Snape to grimace again even as he slipped his hand down to feel the man's pulse. It wasn't that far off Harry's own, he noted with relief. Dobby stepped forwards out of the shadows in the corner, as if he had been there the whole time, waiting to be useful. "Guard the Floo, tell anyone trying to come through that ... that one of the boxes in the attic had Glumbumble's in, or something. 'We're fine, but don't come through'." He looked back at Snape, "We'll get Mrs Weasley in the morning, once you're in a fit state to tell her what happened, all right?"

"Acceptable. Now unhand me... you cretin." Harry was slightly incredulous at that, as Snape's head and shoulders leaned even more heavily on his support.

"Of course sir, as soon as we get you to bed. Dobby, would you Lighten him for me? Thanks." Dobby nodded solemnly from by the fire as Harry adjusted his grip to hold Snape more comfortably. He pulled the man's arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet; he didn't weigh much more than a first year with the charm and his legs could hold a fair amount of that, though they did shake.

"Say... nothing of... this, Potter! I'll throw... worse than cockroaches... at your head." Snape rasped, apparently standing was pretty tough right now. After the first few stumbling steps though, he seemed to reclaim a little of his coordination. Harry swallowed nervously at his threat though... he _had_ seen what the man had in his potion's store.

"Right, sir. Not a word..."

It was too much effort to speak after that, particularly for Snape so they made their way up three flights of stairs in silence, with Snape closer to sleep with every step. When Harry let the man tumble into bed his eyes opened again, sweeping over Harry's face in a swift assessment. Harry didn't notice; he was too busy pulling the sheets over Snape's chilled body and trying not to let the situation get to him. What Snape saw was enough to keep him awake for a little longer; Harry was white, almost gray, and looked like his world had been broken somehow. Once Snape was covered and his wand safely stored on the bed side table, he watched the young man give in to the events of the evening.

Harry slid down to sit on the floor with his back against the bed, near the headboard. His hands were shaking and the image of blackened, burnt and cracking skin kept flashing up in front of his eyes. He realised that he was sobbing when a warm weight pressed against his back, between his shoulder blades, and he managed to stop.

"Hush, now... Potter. We will... survive." He twisted to look at his professor and found a freshly-healed, long fingered hand resting on his back and coal-black eyes scanning his face. He scrubbed his eyes with a sleeve and nodded,

"Right, sir. Just don't ever do this to me again, or I'll steal the whole bloody ingredients cupboard." He grunted, trying to hold the fear in his voice back.

"Detention, Mr Potter..." Was the last thing Snape said as he, apparently satisfied, slid into sleep. Snape's hand slipped of his back and onto the bed, where his knuckles just rested against Harry's spine. His shaking slowly diminished under the influence of Snape's steady breathing and warm touch but for a long, long time, he didn't move. He could feel his back protesting the awkward position and he knew he'd be stiff when he eventually stood up but... he couldn't bear to step away from Snape when he was obviously so weak; so weak, in fact, that he couldn't even feel his magic.

He dropped his head to his knees and hugged them close to his chest, feeling cold despite the invisibility cloak draped around him. Ever since Snape had rescued him from his trance, he'd drawn comfort from that magic; now that he could recognise it, it flared like a beacon whenever the man was nearby. But now...

It must have been hours later because the gray light of pre-dawn was just outlining the rug when he felt the first spark. Like an ember in the bottom of the grate when air is blown over it, Snape's magic became noticeable; just the first glimmer, like the dawn light, but unmistakably there. He scrambled to hands and knees and turned so he could see Severus' face. He hadn't moved in his sleep _at all_ but there was colour to his skin now. It wasn't much, but the man was always pale. Harry reached out a shaking hand and brushed silky hair off his face and the skin was warm. He let out a relieved laugh when Snape shifted very slightly in response to the touch, scrunching his brow up in irritation.

Harry let his arms drop onto the side of the mattress and rested his head there for a second.

"You actually had me worried there, for a minute... but then, who'd have given me my detention, hmm?" He said wryly, not expecting or receiving a response. After a minute of shameless staring, Harry levered himself to his feet and staggered to the door to go check on Albus Dumbledore.


	14. Chapter 14: Chocolate and Waffles

_AN: sorry this is late; will have to make better notes on when I promise to update in future. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Fourteen:Chocolate and Waffles.

The three or so hours of sleep he had managed was feeling pretty inadequate by that point and he gave a jaw cracking yawn on his way down to the first floor. The Blue Room, where he should find his esteemed Headmaster, was down the corridor from the staircase and past a number of sleeping portraits. Harry saw a flicker of movement in one, however; Phineas Nigellus, presumably visiting the house to check up on the current Headmaster.

He pushed the door, which was decorated with a small blue plaque, open with care in order to avoid the obnoxious creak it was capable of producing. The room was decorated in blue's, as might be expected, and was immaculate; given that Harry and Ron had spent an entire day, with Kreacher's help, getting it that way, Harry was satisfied with the result. Speaking of Kreacher... the old elf was stood near the bed that Harry couldn't quite make himself look at yet, with a blank but satisfied look on his gnarled little face.

After taking a deep breath, Harry was able to screw up his courage and look at the Headmaster himself; his skin was pale and papery, apart from his hand... _it_ lay on top of pale blue covers like a smudge of soot. He didn't look like he was in pain, but it didn't look like the injury had healed at all either and he was very deeply asleep.

"Thank you, Kreacher. You have done well." He said, hoping that the elf wouldn't have a paroxysm of joy at the simple statement. It was true enough, after all; Dumbledore was dressed in what Harry believed to be the wizard's own pyjamas, since that shade of purple, combined with lime green moons was particularly horrific. His hair was brushed out neatly over the pillow and his beard was tucked away safely under the covers. There was no trace of the grime, smoke and cobwebs that had covered him earlier.

There was no trace, either, of the exuberance Dumbledore usually exuded; he was so very still. It was humbling to think that this frail-boned old creature was, in all likelihood, the strongest wizard alive. He really did look old, Harry thought; even more so than could be accounted for by his injuries. Perhaps it was the stress of the war, or perhaps Dumbledore really was just _that_ old, and his vivacious, flamboyant style did more to hide it than Harry had thought possible.

He perched carefully at his Headmaster's side, trying not to move the mattress too much, and touched his cheek lightly to reassure himself that he was _there_, warm and breathing. The magic that usually buzzed with energy was quiet, still; a little humbling in its sheer weight. Harry had felt it before but it still managed instil a little awe, each time.

"You may continue with your duties, Kreacher. Set wards to let you know if he needs attending." He glanced down at the elf in question to make sure he was listening. "Molly Weasley will be arriving soon, she will help." Kreacher nodded and popped off, a great deal more quietly that he had a week and a half ago. He felt monitoring wards go up and backed out of their radius so they could settle.

With one last look at Dumbledore, framed in sea-foam green pillows, he headed out to relieve Dobby.

He was careless, he realized quickly, as he made his way to the kitchen, and a stumble was rewarded by the ear splitting shriek of a portrait.

"FILTHY MUDBLOOD, BISMIRCHING THE GOOD NAME OF BLACK! HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY ELF FROM ME! COWARDLY, FILTHY, SON OF AN ANIMAL!"

"Silence!" he roared right back, tired and done with her ridiculous rants. "How dare you? As the Master and Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black you _own me your loyalty!_" He returned with a harsh voice he hadn't known he was capable of. The repulsive portrait fell into shocked silence but soon her bony face started reddening and twisted in rage. Harry's eyes went wide and he drew the curtains over her frame while he still had a chance. _It was worth a try,_ he thought to himself as he stepped back with caution. Eyeing the portrait, he made his way to the stairs to the kitchen and only turned his back on it when he was at risk of falling down stairs.

"Hey Dobby, anything happen?" He said once the kitchen door was closed behind him.

"Good Morning Master Harry Potter Sir." He replied squeakily, looking horribly chipper with some embroidery on his knee. There was an amber screen, a ward, over the fireplace, but the flames were still orange. "No firecalls, no having to make lies to Order Members!"

"I'm glad," Harry said as he slumped in his chair, turning it to face the fire. "I know you don't like lying. I'll talk to Mrs Weasley soon." He glanced over his shoulder at the scorch marks and potion-filled cauldron on the table. There was a litter of open and empty vials, both on the table and on the floor.

"Dobby is sorry for not clearing up, but Magic is not to be used on potions." Harry looked back to find the elf looking apologetic with large eyes,

"'s alright, Dobby. Snape said not to touch it anyway." He said, settling into his chair and warming his bare feet in front of the fire. "Mrs Weasley'll know what to do."

A cup of tea drifted its way towards him, accompanied by a plate of sliced fruit and one of those silly little dessert forks. He smiled softly as he plucked the cup out of the air,

"Thanks, Dobby..." A sip proved that the tea was just the right temperature and had just enough milk in it for his taste and he sighed in released tension; there's nothing quite like a cup of tea in the morning. He didn't feel like eating anything, after the stress of the last six hours, but fruit would sit easily in his stomach and he imagined what Snape would do if he declined to eat to motivate himself; glare at him in silence until he capitulated. The melon and strawberries smelled good, too, so he made himself eat most of the portion.

The odd pair sat quietly for almost an hour, Harry's new shield steadily taking shape under Dobby's hands. The visit to the Heraldry Office had registered the design without trouble, acknowledging Harry's status as Head of the line of Potter and the House of Black. The inclusion of Gryffindors sword had been the only tripping point; Dobby had ranted about how the Herald had been dubious for quite some time, but the man had given in, eventually. As a magical artefact, the sword had given him the right to wield it, and who was he to argue? Harry was very pleased with the result and looked forwards to showing 'Mione; she would appreciate the significance.

He glanced at the mantle clock as he finished his second cup of tea; it was approaching half seven and he was pretty sure that Mrs Weasley would be in the kitchen already, or would be getting up soon, to cook her husband breakfast.

"Ok, Dobby, you can drop the ward now. I'm going to Floo the Burrow. Would you check on Snape, quickly?" He asked, standing up a little stiffly and straightening his dressing gown. The elf nodded and snapped his fingers; the amber fell away into the ground, and Dobby himself disappeared with a quiet pop.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his scruffy hair, staring into the flames and trying to work out what to say to Mrs Weasley. The truth would be ideal, but Snape had named Mrs Weasley only... Harry knew better than anyone how much the man valued his privacy. While he didn't think Dumbledore's illness would change the Weasley's opinions of him, _Snape_ wouldn't appreciate _anyone_ seeing him weak. He decided that he would inform Mrs Weasley directly about Dumbledore, allowing Arthur to find out and perhaps provide some cover for the Headmaster while he was incapacitated but say nothing about Snape. Not that Dumbledore had been active in the Order, as far as Harry could see, for a while; whatever he had been doing had obviously taken his full attention, apparently. When Mrs Weasley arrived, leaving her children behind to start with, he could tell her the full story.

Maybe Ron and the others could continue as normal later, once he'd convinced Mrs Weasley to ward Snape's room and they'd worked out how to dispose of the cursed remains, still bathed in purple containment potion.

"The Burrow!" He exclaimed as clearly as he could while sticking his head into the fire. It sounded a little muffled to him, but the Weasley family kitchen soon came into view through the swirling green flames. He blinked frantically and took a deep breath, once away from the sooty chimney, in an attempt to quell the nausea that having your head spun on your neck can cause. Once the flames turned red again he looked around, feeling distinctly odd at the low perspective. The kitchen looked empty as he scanned, full of table legs, chair legs but bereft of Mrs Weasley-legs. He called out tentatively and craned his neck around;

"Mrs Weasley? Are you there?" He cringed slightly, if she was there, she would answer to her name, if she wasn't then asking the question was pointless in the first place. He sighed at his own logical fallacy and craned his neck the other way, towards the back door. He immediately noticed it was open, since the low, early morning sun caught him right in the eye.

"Harry! Gosh, you're up early!" As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the person to go with the incredibly chipper voice; Mrs Weasley was stood on the stoop, throwing grain to the chickens. As she spoke, she scattered the dregs of the basket, causing a minor feeding frenzy, and turned towards the fireplace.

"Why ever are you in the fire? Is everything alright?" She looked quite concerned, perhaps she'd seen the stress lines on his face or something, but her response suited what he had to say, in any case.

"No, Mrs Weasley... I'm afraid it's not." She was just in the process of kneeling on a flat cushion in front of him and froze with her hands clenched on her apron. He could see her gearing up to a fully fledged, impossible to answer, string of questions so he rushed to explain.

"Dum- _Professor_ Dumbledore arrived here early this morning, pretty badly cursed. He's fine now, I think; Snape patched him up, but I need your help looking after him. I don't know the first thing about looking after sick people! And clearing up the potions mess and burn marks." He said, some of his anxiety seeping through into his voice. At least Kreacher did, he thought to himself, not that he trusted the elf yet.

"Oh! Oh _my!_" Mrs Weasley had gone rather white and had trembling hands pressed over her mouth in surprise. "But... but he's _Albus!_"

"He's just human, love. We all make mistakes." Harry looked up to find Arthur standing in the doorway from the living room. He gave Harry a nod and pulled the door closed behind him. He went straight to Mrs Weasley, who turned her face into his chest the minute he was in reach. "What can we do, Harry? What has Professor Snape said?"

Harry drew a deep breath and concentrated on Arthur instead of the rather upset Mrs Weasley. "Apparently he doesn't need any more treatment, but his reputation... Snape said I should Floo Mrs Weasley but he was insistent that no one else find out." Harry bit his lip and looked up at Arthur, "Don't let Ron and the others find out, please! I think it has something to do with Occlumency," He gave the Patriarch a pleading look and got a reassuring nod in return. "I locked down the House; no one can get in, apart from by Floo, since I can't put wards up to stop someone just stumbling into the Headmaster's room. Oh, Snape said no one should find out, and he wore himself out doing the healing so he's sleeping now, but the cursed thing is still on the kitchen table and he told me not to touch it and Dobby can't move it, so it's just sitting there, being ominous-"

"Harry Potter!" He shut up as Mrs Weasley's exasperated tone finally reached him. He blushed immediately, ashamed of his incessant and nonsensical babbling. She gave a deep sigh; "There now, step back from the fire, there's a good boy. I'll be through in a moment." He nodded gratefully and pulled his head out of the fire. Just as he was leaving, he heard Mrs Weasley telling Arthur that 'the eggs are on the stove, and the toast is under the tea-cosy,' before the roar of flames and sensation of having his head screwed back on distracted him. He scrambled back from the hearth, brushing soot from his knees and hair, trying to calm himself. He was dismayed to think that he had broken down in front of the Weasley's; he'd managed to keep it together all night, and then given away more than he had intended. The fire roared green again soon and Mrs Weasley stepped out, immaculate and in full control of her balance, he noted with a little envy.

"Now then! I've set Arthur to his breakfast, and he'll tell the children that they're not to come over until I fetch them." She gave Harry a searching glance; checking him up and down for injury, "You sit down, now Harry, you look done in."

She leant down to put a box on the floor, Harry couldn't tell what it contained but the thick dragon hide gloves hanging over the edge were reassuring.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Mrs Weasley put up a ward over the Blue room, and Snape's room; Silencing, Notice-Me-Not and locking, while Harry was in the shower. The contaminated potion was sealed into its cauldron by a spell that vividly reminded Harry of cling-film and they locked it in the Lab. The splashes of goop and patches of soot were Harry's responsibility and to be scrubbed off the table while Mrs Weasley set about repairing the worst of the burn marks with her wand.

Harry's hands were sore from scrubbing by nine o'clock, even with gloves, but he managed to get all but the worst of the stains out. While he was working, Mrs Weasley had disappeared upstairs to check on Dumbledore and Snape again; she looked pale when she returned, half an hour later, but determined. Harry was relieved to hear that the elves had, between them, set proper monitoring wards and that the two men were safe to rest; the addition of Mrs Weasley's concealment wards had finished their protection off nicely.

The table was mostly clean when she returned; there were some scorch marks left but they decided to explain that by blaming a Never-Out candle that had fallen over when the Boggart had attacked Harry. They would say that it had turned into a Dementor and Harry had been rendered helpless almost immediately, without his Patronus, leaving Dobby to go to Mrs Weasley for help.

It was an elegant solution; it explained why Harry was looking so tired, why Mrs Weasley had headed over early, and why she hadn't taken her children with her. Once the mad rush to remove evidence of the night's events and preserve Dumbledore's privacy was over, Mrs Weasley ensconced him, with a blanket that he was secretly grateful for, in his chair at the head of the table. Dobby set to making a large pot of soup for the two men up stairs while Mrs Weasley forced Harry to start on some cereal and toast; he wasn't exactly hungry after seeing Snape's hands like _that_, and he didn't want to smell bacon ever again. Mrs Weasley promised him that that would fade, but he was dubious. Dobby had been busy with his part once the soup was stewing; making a breakfast of pancakes and waffles that he'd then loaded with chocolate.

Harry still wasn't hungry but he pulled a hot, chocolate covered waffle onto his plate to show willing, while Mrs Weasley called the Burrow to summon Ron and Ginny. The twin's turned out to be there too and all four tumbled out of the fireplace looking distinctly worried.

"Harry!" He was immediately accosted by Ginny and patted her on the back gently, "Oh Harry, the twins said the wards were up,"

"We couldn't Apparate"

"in, so we went to the Burrow,"

"to see what was going on." said the twins, their hands landing on Harry's shoulders and squeezing gently.

"Thought there'd been an attack, mate. Thought maybe someone's owl had been tracked." Ron added, slumping into the chair on Harry's right; he looked pretty pale under his freckles.

"We just had a bit of a scare, that's all; isn't that right, dear?" Mrs Weasley said as she herded the twins and Ginny away from him. He mustered a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, nothing I haven't seen before." He got incredulous looks for that;

"Oh, so it was a Basilisk, then? Or maybe it was just Mouldy Shorts? No worries, seen it before!" Ron was practically growling and Harry sunk down into his blanket a little, acknowledging that it was a poor turn of phrase.

"No, no! Nothing like that; it was just a Boggart, alright?" He plucked at the blanket listlessly, he really didn't like lying to his friends, people he considered family, but it was for their safety and couldn't be avoided, leaving him with the unpleasant experience and no recourse.

"Bloody hell, Harry... you alright?" Ron asked leaning in and tilting his head to get a good look at Harry's face, partially hidden by messy fringe.

"Yeah... I was, mhh... pretty freaked," He said with utmost honesty, he had been unsettled by the events of that night and once it had sunk in, as he was explaining to the Weasley elders, he _had_ freaked. A twin took the seat to his left, picking up the gravy boat, currently filled with chocolate sauce, and poured it over Harry's waffle with a serious look on his face. The other twin sat beside Ron and Ginny sat opposite him, picking up a hot English muffin to cover with chocolate spread once she was settled.

"Eat Harry, you're too,"

"thin and chocolate,"

"will help, remember?" The twins chorused at him and he did, indeed remember. He'd taught the DA everything Remus had told him about Dementors, and some things he hadn't, and had included the magical properties of chocolate. He _was _starting to get an appetite as the smell of warm pastry and cocoa drifted to him...

"Right, of course. You lot should eat too, though, I'll never get through this much stuff on my own." He said, untangling himself from his warm cocoon and picking up his mug.

"Not gonna argue with that, mate. Someone pass me the pancakes." Ron said, starting everyone off. Harry noticed that the twins preferred banana with their chocolate sauce and pancakes, while Ginny carefully constructed a raspberry and cream waffle that Harry thought needed some white chocolate. Ron showed no real preference, he was eating too quickly for that, but Harry did notice that he leaned towards foods that he could get into his mouth easily. He poked his own waffle somewhat desultorily but eventually started eating too. Once the whole waffle was down, his stomach felt a bit more settled and he joined in the impromptu fondue party that the twins had started, by dipping whole bananas into the chocolate sauce. Their blatant attempts at innuendo were ignored by all.

There was no real drive for cleaning once breakfast was done; Mrs Weasley had settled down by the fire with tea and knitting, so they all just turned their chairs around and joined her, relaxing in the warmth and talking. Dobby joined them after a minute, working on the finishing touches to the giant Potter-Black coat of arms he was embroidering onto a piece of flag silk. Harry dearly hoped he'd never be required to use it; it was a thing of war, cavalry charges and medieval swords. He sincerely wished it would never come to that... Though, modern warfare was qualitatively different, wizards didn't use blades anymore and Apparition had destroyed the concept of 'the line of battle'; Harry had seen that in the Department of Mysteries. Fights were chaos and confusion and if a flag could help people rally, maybe that could be all for the best... he shivered at his own thoughts.

"She won't want to wait much longer now, not with the book lists coming out." Harry heard Ron say as he tuned in to the conversation.

"We can ask Dumbledore, we're due for an Order meeting, there hasn't been an official one for a week and a half." replied Ginny. Harry looked up at Mrs Weasley and they exchanged a worried look. Harry had no idea how much of the Order ran itself but he was pretty sure that without Dumbledore, things would start to break down. The look on Mrs Weasley's face confirmed it; he gave a heavy sigh and resolved to talk to the Headmaster as soon as he woke up. Fortunately, only the twins seemed to notice this by-play and they didn't comment. Harry didn't know what they thought about it but they looked solemn, so it was pretty sure they'd seen the worry loud and clear.

"Hey, Fred, George?" He mused, picking a topic he'd thought about recently to distract them, "You know Professor Snape carries a set of potions with him?"

"Yeah, very handy stuff,"

"healing potions, that sleeping gas,"

"he used the other day, even Poly-"

"juice, or so they say." they replied, looking curious,

"Could we do the same with Wheezes? Say a bottle of Instant Darkness, Decoy Detonators, a whole range of things?" Harry wondered, warming up to the topic and sitting forwards slightly,

"Disguises,"

"Icy Impacts," the twin nearest Harry gave him a wink at that,

"I think we could"

"manage a fairly full set."

"Nothing shady or illegal though..." Harry said, glancing at Mrs Weasley briefly, "We don't want Order members to be implicated in any way, and I would like to offer them to the older DA members too."

Harry paused and the twins went off on one, chattering on about what to include between the two of them, with Mrs Weasley moderating their proposed list. It was a good time to do something he'd been meaning to for ages, but hadn't got 'round to yet;

"Hey Ron?"

"Yeah, mate." His best friend replied, turning towards him.

"You know the twins have an investor, right?"

"Right. Someone gave them a thousand Galleons, right capital bloke if you ask me." Harry winced slightly, hoping Ron wouldn't change his mind about that,

"Yeah... you remember how much the Triwizard winnings were?" He asked, hoping Ron would make the connection. His reply was slow, as if he was slightly fazed by the change in topic.

"Wasn't it something like... oh. Oh _mate_. You didn't." Ron's face was slack in shock and Harry could feel Ginny's sharp eyes on him too,

"I did. After everything, I didn't want the money, so I gave it to the twins to start their business with. I get dividends and everything..." He said, trying to make it sound a bit more... business like. "It was a damned good investment, too; it'll pay for a good amount of the DA's kit."

Ron's face was shifting between affront, interest and tactical planning, (Harry would have called it scheming, but Ron would have hit him for the thought,) and finally settled on approval.

"Alright, alright, stop looking like I might explode. It's your money; I've grown up enough to know when you're being genuine."

Harry looked on incredulously, "Oi. Ginny. What've you done with Ron? Who's this weirdo?" He said, jerking his thumb at Ron, who fumed quietly,

"Oh sod off, Harry." The three broke down into laughter, which attracted the twin's attention and precipitated a round of equal-opportunity teasing that had them all grumbling and laughing in turns.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*~

Harry and Ron went upstairs to feed Buckbeak later that morning and Harry had to be careful not to spend too long staring at Snape's bedroom door and hoping that he would alright, soon. Ron didn't notice, fortunately, and Buckbeak was as pleased to see them as ever. After a thorough groom, the pair fetched their chess men and the board and went to the formal dining room, where the twins and Ginny had set up.

The twins were using the large space to work on their Patronus-in-a-Jar idea. They'd levitated the table and chairs to the side of the room and cast their Patronus's repeatedly, using many variations of ward-nets in an attempt to capture the silvery shapes. They were beginning to have some success by lunch, using some of the advice Remus had given them at Harry's birthday, but were stumbling from the repeated casting when Mrs Weasley fetched them for the meal. Harry and Ron left their chess game on the dining table, while Ginny gathered up her pile of Transfiguration essay notes and took it with her, she had questions.

Harry was itching to go upstairs and check on Snape and Dumbledore by this point and fidgeted all through lunch. He was aware that Mrs Weasley had noticed; she'd been watching him closely all day and the soft touch on the back of his finger-tapping hand was a big giveaway. Harry met her concerned gaze and flicked a quick look towards the ceiling before looking back at her and letting a bit of the desperation seep through. She just smiled and clapped her hands over her empty plate.

"Right then! Ron, go back and fetch your homework, Ginny, you pass me yours, and Fred, George help Dobby with the dishes." She ordered, quickly qualifying the final one; "_without_ wands, if-you-please!" The kitchen sprung into a swirl of activity, filled with the scraping of chairs and clanking of plates. Harry managed to slip away, unnoticed.

He leaned against the closed kitchen door for a moment, listening as Ron Floo'ed away and the twins chattered, their voices muffled by the thick wood. He took a deep breath and made his was upstairs, trying to retain his dignity.

He looked in on Dumbledore first. The Blue room was sunlit at this time of day, as it faced south and the warm, though sharp, light reflected off the carpet to fill the room. Dumbledore looked very small, in the middle of the large bed, with a mound of cushions supporting his head and shoulders. His hands were laid on top of the sheets, unmoved since he'd last seen them. His beard was still laid out neatly, tucking under the covers in a fat silver wisp and his hair was brushed neatly back. Harry stood very still for a long moment, watching his chest and waiting for it to move. After what seemed like a long time, the Headmaster's mouth fell open with a loud, grating snore. Harry almost collapsed in a heart-racing combination of utter surprise and relief. He slid down the wall and tried to restrain both his giggles and his tears. Dumbledore was obviously fine; dear god, that _noise!_


	15. Chapter 15: a Soft Underbelly

_AN: Snape is a surprisingly good patient. _

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: a Soft Underbelly

The out-breath of that most magnificent snore sent the man's moustache to quivering and Harry had to leave before he burst out laughing and woke Dumbledore up. He took a moment in the hallway to calm down from the relief before making his way up to the second floor to look in on Snape. If what Harry had felt was any indication, Severus Snape had used up his entire magical reserve to stop the curse and would be utterly exhausted and in need of food, like Harry had been after the Battle at Number Four; he hoped the soup Dobby had made would do the trick, for now. He had seen the elf making up a bowl as he left the kitchen.

His suspicions were proved right when he heard the pop of elf Apparition in the corridor ahead. Dobby was carrying a tray, the normal way, this time, rather than on his head, and looking to Harry.

"Master Harry Potter can open the door for Dobby, please!" the little elf asked, or possibly instructed, reminding Harry of his suspicions that the Potions Master had forbidden the elf entry without permission.

"Sure, in you go." He said, taking advantage of his head of house position and opening the door at the same time. The pair slipped in quietly and Harry shut the door behind them. Snape was as Harry had left him; curled on his right side with his hands lightly curled in front of him and his knees drawn up slightly. There was a Potions Journal on the bedside table, which Harry moved out of the way so Dobby could put the tray of bread and soup down and put on the desk in the corner. He pulled the desk chair over to the bedside on his way back and sat down close enough to reach the Professor if he needed help.

"Professor Snape? You need to wake up now." He said in what he hoped was an insistent voice. The dark haired body on the bed made no move but Harry thought he felt the man's magic flare a tiny bit. "Come on, Professor... There's soup, I'm sure you can smell it," Harry certainly could and if he hadn't just been fed, he would have felt rather hungry himself. There was a slight movement this time, just a holding of the breath followed by a twitch of Snape's long fingers.

"Hmm, tell you what; if you don't wake up and have something to eat _right now_, I'll tell Ron you got me a birthday present, you big sof-"

"Finish that sentence... at your peril... Mr Potter..."Snape ground out, managing to open one eye. Harry just smiled, faintly relieved that the man had woken so quickly, without Harry having to invade his personal space while he was sleeping. He was pretty sure Snape would have hit him, or hexed him, if he had. "Now help me up, you simple minded, overly Gryffindorish buffoon."

"Yesir." He answered promptly, with one of those insufferable little smiles on his face. Snape rolled onto his back with a grouchy frown and managed to push up onto his elbows; Harry slipped an arm under his shoulders to help him up the rest of the way. The man was heavy; he did have almost six inches on Harry's 5'7" and most of his bulk was concentrated in the broad shoulders and their coating of muscle, built up over years of hauling potions cauldrons about and honed by duelling. Harry stacked pillows neatly behind Snape's back and the man leaned back gratefully, looking a little clammy from the exertion.

"What time is it?" Snape snapped, as much as he could snap, a tired as he was. Before Harry had a chance to reply, he rephrased himself; "Correction, what _day_ is it?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly; he'd known the magic was strenuous, but for Snape to expect to be out for days was... somewhat impressive. "It's half two, August the fifth. You've not been out very long; ten, eleven hours at most. I didn't think it was sensible to let you go without food like that."

Snape was gave him a long, speculative look, before snorting and resting his head back against the headboard. "The wards are still locked?"

Harry nodded, it felt a little like being in a tent; protected by a thin layer of _something_, all around. "Yes sir, Mrs Weasley set up wards over your and Professor Dumbledore's rooms too; Ron wouldn't be able to find the Blue Room, even if he remembered it existed."

"The Weasley brats are here?" Snape sneered tiredly, "Wonderful."

"Yeah, they won't bother you, though; we fed them a story about a Boggart, so it's no questions asked." Harry reported dutifully, turning to pick up the tray and place it over Snape's legs. It grew four little feet and Harry was able to settle it on the mattress to make a lap table. "Dumbledore is... hmm... Did you know he snores?"

Snape fumbled for the spoon for a second, before retreating and touching each finger of his right hand to his thumb to try and regain a little co-ordination. "Indeed, I did. Rather unpleasant sound, somewhat _grating."_

Harry watched the exercise with innocent curiosity. "I suppose. I was too relieved to hear it to notice. Does that help?" He said, copying the finger movements,

"It does. It accelerates activation of the cerebellum, causing improvement in co-ordination after extended periods of inactivity," Snape murmured, not truly attending to what he was saying. He tried the spoon again and was able to pick it up and angle it correctly, "As you can see."

"Yeah..." Harry replied just as absently, thinking about his broom and wanting to be in the air again; he'd show Snape 'co-ordination'. The quiet stretched, punctuated by the sound of a spoon touching crockery.

"Will his hand heal?" he blurted eventually, half knowing and already dreading the answer.

"Pushing the curse back is the only option and is temporary at that; I have done as much as is possible." Harry drew one foot up onto the seat of his chair, hating the deep regret in Snape's voice. He leant his temple on his knee and tried to avoid panicking.

"Then... what? Will he wake up?" He asked, starting with the worst possible outcome, in the hopes that it could only get better,

"Yes, he will be... well, for some time. I do not know how long." Snape said, looking down at his hard-won spoon and turning it between his finger and thumb. "Eventually, infection will set in... it is just a matter of time."

"He's... pretty old, tough..." he said, lingering hope fluttering in his chest.

"It will not be enough."

Harry bowed his head further and blinked hard. It was one thing to be annoyed at the man for his manipulations and his infuriating belief in the sanctity of blood relations, it was quite another to hear that he would, on some undefined, insignificant day, die. A warm touch to the back of his hand where it was wrapped around his shin prompted him to look up.

Severus's face was blank but Harry knew that he was in pain, was beginning to grieve already, just as Harry was. Making eye contact somehow helped Harry feel that grief, in his own soul, without losing control. Thick, heavy tears collected in his eyes and rolled to oblivion on the carpet.

"It's too soon, after Sirius. Why is it so..." He choked on his own words and shook his head wildly. His hair, now longer and its mess turning to wild curls, flopped over his face only to be moved gently away in a gesture he'd never imagined Severus would make.

"There's still time, he's not gone yet." The hand stayed for a moment, on the top of Harry's bowed head and Severus's voice was hoarse with unexpressed emotion. Harry drew comfort from the touch, even though he still cried freely.

"Have you looked in a mirror recently?" the potion master asked out of the blue, his hand dropping to the mattress to retrieve the abandoned spoon. Harry rubbed his face with his sleeve to dry some of the salt off his face and shook his head.

"'s always steamed up, 's not like it's worth brushing this lot anyway." He mumbled back, suppressing the hitch in his voice and waving absently at his hair.

"Look." Harry glanced up just in time to see Severus gesture at the mirror on the dresser. He didn't really want to; he was pretty sure he looked as bad as he felt, but he knew Severus must have a good reason for bringing it up. He wobbled to his feet, feeling like he'd been _literally_ shaken, not just emotionally, and made his way over. He glanced back at Severus once and got a raised eyebrow for his trouble, along with a spoon waved at him in encouragement.

He rubbed his eyes again then turned to the mirror. Green eyes, blood shot and swollen. Cheekbones, fine and too well defined; in sore need of more food. Clear skin, pale and in need of a tan but spot and freckle free.

"Your hair, Harry... reminiscent of anyone?" came Severus's dry voice, making Harry's eyes snap to the reflection behind his then back to himself. He almost fell over when he realised it; he heaved a heavy, almost angry sob and turned his back on the image, burying his hands in the thick strands. The length, the shallow waves, even the parting, pushed off slightly to the side. It was still _Harry's_ hair, messy and black as pitch, except where the sun had bleached it brown during Quidditch but the resemblance was obvious; Sirius's smiling face filled his mind, the same head of hair being ruffled by the wind on the hillside outside Hogsmead.

"Why? I don't understand..." He whimpered, moving back towards Severus and comfort, more fat tears falling and being scrubbed away mercilessly.

"Because... an old coot once told me that... those we care for leave their mark on us." The tray of lunch had been pushed away at some point and had vanished. Severus reached out to Harry and pulled him down to sit next to his legs. "Being here... you are surrounded by reminders of him... and I think... your magic has given you another."

Harry slumped where he sat, leaning into the warmth of Severus' hand, "I don't _need_ reminders... I have to bury my mind to _stop_ thinking about him long enough to sleep!"

"I know, Harry. I know." He murmured and lifted his hand to rub gently at the back of Harry's neck. They both fell silent, taking comfort from each other in order to handle their own thoughts.

The quiet was deep and filled with sad and silent musings; however, soon Severus' exhaustion had returned full force. Harry felt the hand slip from its comforting movements, down over his back to land on the mattress with a thump. He noted that Severus was pale and that a faint exertion tremor had appeared in his movements;

"I think you'd better go back to sleep, Professor..." he asked as he stood shakily and turned to help the man lie down.

"You look like... you could do with some sleep... yourself, Mr Potter." Severus said as he sat up slightly, with Harry's help, so the pillows he had been leaning against could be shoved away. Harry pushed them over to the other side of the bed and eyed them longingly, wanting to curl up next to Severus, near to his wonderful, comforting magic...

"Oh for... pity's sake..." He heard Severus mutter as he slumped comfortably on the mattress, "Come, sleep. Foolish young man..." Harry blinked dazedly and felt himself be tugged down to settle next to Severus, who shuffled towards the middle of the bed to make room. The duvet was pulled up over him and he felt Severus' long fingers carding gently through his dishevelled hair. The two lay facing each other, both curled slightly, forming a pocked of warm air in between them. Severus's hand curled around the back of his neck and drew his head down to rest against his collar bone. The simple movement caused Harry's tenuously held defence against tears to disintegrate again and he sobbed bitterly into Severus' pyjamas, for both Sirius and Albus Dumbledore.

Eventually, for the first time in over a month, he fell asleep without needing to Occlude and as risky as that was, as frightening, it felt _wonderful_.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

When Harry woke up, he felt more rested than he had in a very long time; he was warm, comfortable and Snape's magic had built slowly until it was like a velvet cloak, draped over him by the hand and arm that were resting comfortably over his shoulders. He blinked slowly for a moment, thinking he'd slept through to night time until he realised that it was Snape's black shirt filling his field of view. He could feel the faint stirring of his breath against the top of his head and really, really didn't want to move.

It was... peaceful, he thought, and he was very grateful to Severus, ('_Snape!'_ he reminded himself,) for his offer, even if it had been an order at the time. It was touching too, that he was trusted enough to sleep beside him, despite the fact that Severus had to have known that Harry would be awake long before he was. He shifted slightly to touch his forehead to the broad chest in front of him before moving backwards slowly. For all that he didn't want to go, he was awake now and was worried that his shifting would wake Snape too. Hell, if he thought too loud, it might wake him. Especially considering how the man's magic was spread over him so warmly.

He carefully tucked the arm that had rested over his shoulders back towards Snape's chest and drew the covers close so that he wouldn't lose his nice pocket of warm air when Harry got up. The man's body temperature was still low, like Harry's had been when he was exhausted the week before. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, looking at Severus' face as he slept; there was a very faint frown and a twisting of the lips as the man pulled his arm in a little closer to his chest. It was weird seeing him look so vulnerable, open.

He glanced out the window and discovered that it was late afternoon sometime, by the light. After a last look at Severus, along with a quick check of the blankets to keep him warm, Harry slipped out of the room and closed the wards and door behind him.

The strangeness of the episode caught up to him then, how very _different_ Severus was from 'Professor Snape'. He meandered slowly down the corridor to his own room, musing over what had just happened, how he had never imagined that it could happen, and most significantly, how he wanted it to happen _again_. It was strange how his help was accepted, too... though, maybe Severus got around his pride by ordering Harry to help him, instead of being embarrassed by his physical condition. That would be... typical, Harry supposed. It still showed a level of trust that Harry, again, felt honoured to be granted.

He shook himself slightly to clear the pleased pondering out of his head and went to get the notes he was making for the DA from his desk. Between everyone that he had asked and his own opinions, he now had a fairly clear idea on what would be most useful to which years so it was time to start planning individual lessons. Books, notes and writing supplies in hand, he headed to the library.

He spread his papers out over the large work table, cracked open his new Dueller's Healing text and started with that. He decided everyone should know the Blood Stemming charm, Mobilicorpus and a bone mending charm, or would a splinting spell be better? It would take less time and magic, for one. But no, you couldn't walk on a splinted leg, so bone mending it was, particularly for older, stronger students. The splinting charm could be useful for the groups of younger students who would be trained in getting seriously injured people away from the fighting, hopefully keeping themselves out of the worst... but no, that was no good; the most severe injuries would be gained in the middle of the fighting. It would depend on where the fight ended up, but they would need some kind of structure, something to defend the injured and medics... _claustra immobilem, _ the Immovable Sheild would work best, especially in close quarters. Coupled with _aeri obsucra_ and-

He went on like that, moving to the basics of defence after half an hour and deciding on priority spells. He put Protego, Expeliarmus and the Patronus on that list, right away, but he was fairly sure the first two would be well known and they wouldn't need to spend much time on it, and enough senior DA members would know the Patronus to help the rest.

Harry didn't pay much attention to his surroundings as he worked; he was too busy modelling meetings and potential assaults in his head, but Ginny and Ron both made an appearance at some point, as did the twins. No one mentioned the 'boggart' or his afternoon's absence. He greeted them absently, handed them a rough lesson plan to look over and kept working. Ginny's knowledge of the studentship and Ron's tactical mind were both helpful in different ways and he scribbled down their suggestions. The twins, however, were relentless and pestered him until they had his full attention;

"The first packs should"

"Be ready by the end"

"Of term. We'd like to come"

"To a meeting, and demonstrate"

"How stuff works."

"Right! Yeah, sure, that would be brilliant." He replied, easing out the cramps in his fingers. "We'll be making healing potions to go in them too; we'll be having a couple of meetings about when to use what then, you could join in any time." He scrabbled around for his master timetable, as inky and full of corrections as it was. "Here, make yourself a copy, it's pretty much set."

One of the twins cast a duplication charm and they bent over the copy,

"Right-o, Harry"

"We'll be ready."

They hung about for a while after that, ribbing him about how terribly adult he was being and going over their product list with him, one last time before opening it to Order members. He eventually chased them off with a rolled up piece of parchment, like he had seen Mrs Weasley doing, when their teasing got too much.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

He had to stop eventually, for dinner, where he found, to his dismay, what looked like half the Order loitering in his kitchen. For once the long table was actually full, once he'd sat down, and he greeted a few familiar faces; it was pleasant to see Fleur Delacour again, and Ron's reaction was as funny as it had been the first time. He was amused to see 'Dung Fletcher all the way at the bottom of the table, looking sullen. Harry hoped that his status as below even the Weasley _children_ chaffed him; after his abandonment the summer before, which had led to Harry facing trial, he wasn't feeling like trusting the man.

Snape's absence wasn't commented on, though Harry saw Molly Weasley and Professor McGonagall exchange slightly worried looks. Shacklebolt took the chair to Harry's left when it was clear Snape was not expected. Perhaps the Deputy Head should be brought in, _after all, she will need to cover for Dumbledore at Hogwarts_, Harry mused as he chewed on a piece of lasagne. It looked like Moody had noted the absence, Remus too.

Conversation seemed to be focused on the defence of magical public spaces today; Harry heard mention of Hogsmead, Diagon Alley and Stonehenge. Harry chipped in quietly, asking his transfiguration Professor how Order members were contacted in emergencies like that. She answered with 'Patronus', offering to teach the method to him when they made the trip to Hogwarts to visit the Chamber; he accepted the offer with a grin. He could see a few flaws with that system though, as un-tamper-able as it was, so Harry shared Hermione's use of the Protean charm to communicate amongst students the year before. Deadalus Diggle was particularly enthusiastic, saying that using his Patronus tired him 'terribly'. Harry resisted the urge to raise a Snape-ish eyebrow at the man.

"I'd be more concerned with giving away your position, personally. Sending a patronus isn't exactly stealthy." He said, instead. The twins chipped in, supporting this, but adding that a good spread of Decoy Detonators and Wildfire Whiz-Bangs would hide your position and cause a good amount of chaos.

That led on to talk about other products that the Pair had come up with, which Harry's reinvestment meant were available in bulk from their shop for Order members. They had brought a box of samples over, after their conversation with Harry in the library, and the group would have a good look once dinner was finished. As it was clear the topic had gotten away from them, McGonagall leaned in to Harry and muttered that she'd organise use of the Protean charm with Dumbledore, just as soon as he got back from his trip. This illuminating comment was filed away in Harry's mind under 'cover stories' and he suppressed his amusement; he wouldn't want to be Dumbledore when he took McGonagall to see him later, once he'd woken up she would be _furious_ with him for deceiving her.

Shacklebolt had news that made a good number of people smile in relief; the new orders for the Aurors corps had come down and more and more were able to cast a Patronus each day. The man even tipped his hat in Harry's direction. The twins had made little progress with their Patronus storage idea, but they were offered suggestions when they mentioned this with long faces, which may or may not turn out to be useful.

It was strange, not having Snape sitting there adding quiet insults for only Harry and McGonagall's ears. He noticed that Snape must have been helping guide the conversation too; without him things kept getting forgotten or lost in the mess. Harry tried to keep things linear but it was complicated and would require more omnipotence than Harry was capable of. It didn't help that the table was so full, either! Nor that Harry's attention was slightly diluted by feeling out the wards. With so many Order members in the House, he was apprehensive that someone would feel Dumbledore's magical signature, despite the strong Notice-Me-Not charm Mrs Weasley had put up. He checked the external wards too, while he was paying attention; the anti-apparition wards were still up, though the physical barrier that had closed off the front door was propped open by Dobby's magic. He opened them so Dobby didn't have to expend the energy, during a quiet moment as pudding was being eaten.

That done, he deliberately put the House's magical protections out of his mind and tried to concentrate; Remus was talking about why Mapping the Alley and Hogsmeade was so difficult with the twins, while McGonagall and Shacklebolt were discussing the warding off of the secret passages into Hogwarts.

For once, he wished he was at the _other_ end of the table; Ginny and Ron were talking about Quidditch... He sighed quietly, kept his tiredness off his face and tried to integrate what the high ranking Order members around him were saying into his picture of current events.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Once most of the Order had left, Harry put a hand on McGonagall's arm and quietly asked her to stay behind. Mrs Weasley looked at him to ask if he wanted her to stay, but he shook his head with a sad little smile. He could do this much, at least, on his own. She nodded and ushered her children into the fire, over their protests that they'd taken themselves home before and could do so again. The twins vanished back to the shop to begin making stock that various people had expressed interest in, finally leaving Harry and his Professor alone.

"What can I do for you, Mr Potter?" She asked in her Head of House voice, as he slumped back into his chair, rubbing his temples as he tried to work out how to break this to her without breaking _her_. "Are you quite alright? And where is Severus?"

"Yes, yes... I'm fine." He said, only answering half her questions, she'd find out the rest in good time. "Last night, something very Dark tripped the wards, waking both Professor Snape and I." She put a hand to her throat in shock, looking very serious indeed. "We investigated and found the Headmaster, here, by the Floo."

"What ever are you saying Mr Potter? Professor Dumbledore is by no means _Dark_!" she looked and sounded affronted, so Harry rushed to explain,

"No! No, that's not what I mean; he was cursed, Professor, by something both Dark enough to trip the wards and powerful enough to do him serious injury." He choked, dropping his head into his hands, barely able to face the idea, despite the anger he still felt for the Headmaster's actions the year before.

"Where is he, Harry?" She gripped his shoulder and leaned in close with a very intense expression on her face, worry predominated,

"Upstairs. Snape did a lot of Healing," He explained as he shook himself and stood, drawing her towards the stairs, "that's why he couldn't come to dinner; he's exhausted. Now, Dumbledore is resting."

"I think you had better tell me exactly what happened, Mr Potter." she said looking very grave indeed.

Harry watched her reactions out of the corner of his eye as he gave details; she went though anger, worry and being impressed, all in the space of a few minutes. She congratulated him on holding it together when Snape was injured and agreed that the contaminated potion, complete with cursed object should remain behind wards until Snape was well enough to deal with it.

Harry didn't go into detail about what Snape had told him that afternoon; he left it ambiguous when she asked whether the injury would cause the Headmaster permanent harm. Since he was already going a touch out of the boundaries Snape had set him by telling her about Dumbledore, he thought that he should be careful with such sensitive information. Plus, it meant that he didn't have to say it out loud.

Once the tale was done, cover stories and all, they agreed that they would call Poppy in the morning, under cover of discussing the first aid lessons he wanted to provide, to supplement Harry and the elves' care. That settled, he led a quiet and tense Professor up to the Blue Room and left her to visit with Dumbledore. He called Dobby and asked him to take her some tea, and then bring up Snape's dinner; he resolutely ignored the tears he had seen as he left the room.


	16. Chapter 16: Awakenings

_AN: Two chapters in one Weekend. I am nice to you lot. _

_Unfortunately, this expediency is also in apology; a scene at the end of chapter eleven went mysteriously missing during the posting process. This, I only noticed due to the diligent Reviews of Post U Later, and I'm sorry it took so long. It's now available in its rightful place, at the end of Chapter Eleven, and deals with the shift in Harry and Remus' relationship, along with some of the Marauders' worst failings._

_**NB: Missing scene from the end of Ch 11 now posted.**  
_

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Awakenings

It was a relief to slip back into Snape's room, he thought, finding the man in a light doze. He was curled on his side again, like he had been earlier, and stirred slightly when Harry closed the door. One black eye opened briefly and regarded him with distinct amusement.

"What are you laughing at?" He grouched as he shuffled to the chair beside the bed, affronted. He knew he must look a little shaken and tired, but need the man be so amused?

"Too many at dinner for poor little Potter?" He mumbled sleepily, rolling onto his back and looking terribly relaxed as Harry slouched onto his chair.

"'s all right for you, you didn't have to divert questions about the two of the most powerful Order members going _missing_!" he scowled, regretting it quickly when Snape lost his enviable lethargy and his face went stern. He sat up a little too quickly and touched a hand to his temple to assure himself that the world wasn't actually spinning,

"You established a cover story?" he snapped, studying Harry so intently that he thought he was being Legilimised for a moment and dropped his not-quite-Occlumency shields instinctually. After a moment he realised his mistake and blushed, garbling a few nonsense syllables in mortification.

Snape made an impatient noise, catching on, and leaned back against the headboard, "Honestly, Harry..."

"Sorry, um... yes. Dumbledore had something set up; McGonagall mentioned something about a 'trip', so I assume he'd covered himself for whatever got him cursed in the first place." Dobby popped in then, with a tray of thick stew. Harry was briefly distracted by the fact that he and Molly must be making two meals at every meal time.

"And what of my absence?" Snape asked with a blank kind of curiosity, like he was hiding again, behind some mask or other. He arranged himself so the elf could give him the tray, with Harry's absent minded help.

"Noted and worried about, mainly. Professor McGonagall will probably be up in a bit; I brought her in on all this to cover for the Headmaster." He said with confidence that it was the right decision as he settled back in the chair and thanked Dobby, who popped out again. It earned him a glare from the Professor, though;

"You impressed upon her the need for discretion, I assume?" he growled, obviously unhappy that the secret was spreading. Harry cringed slightly and drew one foot up to rest on the edge of his seat, his knee against his chest.

"I did, but she said that Poppy should come by. I agree, really... Dobby and Kreacher are good, but I'd be more comfortable if she had a look at him..." He said, not looking at Snape,

"Very well... There is logic in that." Snape ground out begrudgingly, stabbing at a potato with his fork. "Do not expect me to subject myself to that woman's _attentions_, however." The fork, complete with potato was jabbed in Harry's direction as emphasis.

Harry blew out a relieved breath and nodded, "Right, no problem." He got a disbelieving grunt for that, before Snape went back to eating.

"The tunnel warding is nearly done; they worked from the Hogsmeade end, so they could do it without the Headmaster around, they said it'll be easy to move them later." Harry said, feeling like he should keep Snape up to date, "Oh, and the Aurors are getting there with the Patronus charm."

"About time," came a mumble from the bed. Harry cast a grin back at the man before continuing.

"There was a lot of talk about protecting Diagon, Hogsmeade and Stonehenge, but no real decisions were made... um... oh! And the twins released their line of Order only products; I can get you a catalogue." He noticed Snape looking at him sideways,

"That bears all the hallmarks of a fully fledged Order meeting... I realise you have been talking a great deal at the dinners, but I remain surprised that Molly allows such talk with her children in the room." Snape was doing that overly-expressive-eyebrow raise again, and Harry ducked his head.

"I'm just... I dunno. Asking the right questions, keeping people on track." He said, shrugging. "Besides, sitting where I do, I think it's hard for people to remember that I'm under age."

"And Molly cannot exclude you, as Lord Potter-Black." Snape finished, looking world weary.

"Y-yeah. It's just... dinner conversation. About the war." Harry grinned sheepishly. "Do I have to be a _Lord?" _he said, making a faint face of distaste.

"Indeed, _Lord_ Potter." Snape scoffed, appearing amused by Harry's reaction.

"I'm not going to complain, since it's getting people to tell me things, but still, I'm not some toff like Malfoy," He grumbled,

"You do well enough, in any case. A little decorum, and a shocking and as-yet-unseen ability to listen has served you well, as far as I have seen." Snape said, making Harry's mouth drop open with a touch of shock.

"Was that a _compliment_ Professor?" he asked, incredulously, "Are you alright? Fever, maybe?"

"Cease your inane-... Do you see any children of Death Eaters in the vicinity?" He said with a tough of anger, viciously jabbing his fork in a gesture to encompass the room. Harry swallowed immediately and looked down,

"Right... sorry, sir. I didn't mean to... yeah. Sorry. Bad time to joke." He'd worked that out weeks ago, but apparently it was still a step too far.

"Credit where it is due, Potter. It is a simple concept." He said with a faint sneer, not looking at Harry and obviously still a little pissed at him for the poorly timed comment.

They both fell quiet for a bit while Snape ate and Harry turned over Snape's reaction.

"D'you think Professor McGonagall's ok? She looked upset, going in to see him." Harry asked quietly, once Snape had mopped up the last of his stew with a piece of bread.

"She is a great deal like you; she will be fine." He replied, not looking up.

Harry goggled slightly; he'd gone mad since Sirius had died, and he was pretty sure he still was. His disbelieving splutter just got him one of those deep, soul searching looks;

"I know your mind, Harry. You have survived this long, we will, _I_ will help you survive the rest. The same is true for Minerva; she is strong and has the support of many people." Harry watched Severus' face turn pensive and dark and he was reminded of just how thin on the ground Snape's 'support' was. The look disappeared quickly as Snape glanced up at him though.

"ummm... Thanks..." He said into the slightly awkward silence. "Would you like some coffee? That was, technically, dinner."

Severus looked up, raising an eyebrow and feeling slightly smug that Harry had been paying attention to his habits. "Yes, that would be appropriate, particularly if you wish me to speak to McGonagall."

Harry quirked a slightly sad, lopsided grin; "Dobby!"

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Snape had been strangely distant with McGonagall in the room, he mused; there was none of the easy atmosphere they had developed. Snape had even glared at him when he'd reached out to take the man's coffee cup, putting it on the bedside table himself, instead, and flicking his eyes towards McGonagall. Perhaps... the side of him that Harry had seen was personal, private, something he'd been privileged to see. That left him with a warm, rather smug feeling that he didn't look too closely at.

But, despite this, the conversation went well, all told, Harry thought as he shifted restlessly about his bed. Her reaction to the news that Dumbledore would... Harry was having trouble thinking it, himself, but she had been strong enough to face it. She'd clammed up after, though and had politely but stiffly asked Harry to be allowed to remain in 12 Grimmauld Place over night. He'd agreed of course, and offered a guest room, but she had denied the offer and returned to Dumbledore's bedside. Harry had silently fetched Hedwig and taken her to the stoic witch, so she could send for Poppy.

He'd gone back to Snape's room after that, for a while, for no real reason. It had been... nice, to just talk. Snape was acerbic and snappy but Harry couldn't care less; the wit and hidden caring in his comments made him smile. The conversation had undertones of comfortable camaraderie and he was able to relax for a bit. Eventually though, Snape had dismissed him and Harry had gone obediently, though with a heavy heart, to his own bed.

He'd missed the man's presence the minute he stepped out of his room with a quiet goodnight and that was part of the reason he was so restless now. He turned over again, kicking at the covers which had become tangled as he shifted around, and gave it up as a bad job. Looking at his clock, he decided it wasn't that late and got up with a grumpy flick of the covers to work at his desk. He plunged into his Herbology textbook with a view to finding out what he had done to his door back at the Dursley's; it was NEWT level stuff, and not something he had ever bothered studying.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Dumbledore woke up, twenty nine hours after he had fallen into a restful sleep, at eight in the morning on the sixth of August. Kreacher Apparated into Buckbeak's room, where Harry had retired after a fitful night.

"Master Harry Potter is to being waking up now." He said peering at the mop of black hair poking out from under the feathers.

Harry was warm and only a little uncomfortable and so did not want to leave his dream about a field of wheat. The straw was poking into his hair though, and Kreacher was capable of repeating himself endlessly.

"Waking, Master Potter!"

He rolled over, tucking his head into the feathers at the base of Buckbeak's foreleg, which he was using as a pillow, and mumbling irritably. A large beak and a waft of cold air was no help at _all_ in his quest to catch up on sleep.

"What is it Kreacher?" He asked, putting his hand on Buckbeak's wing joint and tugging gently to ask him to cover him up again. The Hippogriff refused and nuzzled him again. He got the message and pushed himself to sitting. Buckbeak trilled at him approvingly and folded his wings against his flanks.

"Dumbleydore is awake and Mistress Changing-things asks for you, and Master Prince." Kreacher replied with a bow. "Kreacher is going to polish Portraits, Master, as Ordered."

Harry puzzled through the elf's strange language with his sleep-fuddled brain and eventually remembered that he'd called Snape 'Prince' before. "Right, thanks. Uh... dismissed?" He couldn't quite manage an authoritative tone just after waking up, but Kreacher didn't seem to mind. He thanked Buckbeak and returned to his room to get dressed and get the straw out of his hair.

"Professor Snape?" He said, still sleepy as he slipped into his professors' room. Snape was turned away from the door, this time, though still on the right side of the bed, with the covers pulled tightly over his shoulders. Harry frowned and strode to the edge of the bed, knowing that something was wrong. Previous times when Harry had arrived to wake Severus, the man had been relaxed, enviably so, but now Harry could see his knuckles clenched tightly around a wad of fabric. He sat down behind the curled back and dithered with his hand hovering above his shoulder.

"Severus?" He murmured worriedly, getting up the courage and shaking his muscular shoulder. "Professor Snape?" He said, a little louder. Leaning over to see if he was having any effect, he caught the look on Severus' face; taught and full of pain. He almost choked, his own expression turning worried.

"Wake up, Severus, please!" He repeated with a note of fear in his voice, pulling Severus over onto his back and shaking him again. The movement jarred him enough that finally, obsidian eyes shot open; Harry's wrists were caught in a painfully tight grip and held just away from Severus' chest. Relief coursed through him as Snape's eyes darted around like the obsessive spy he needed to be.

"You're alright, Severus, were you dreaming? It's alright now." He said, in as soothing a voice as he could manage, ignoring the bruises that Severus' grip was causing. "Look at me, Severus... you're at Grimmauld, you're safe..."

The grip loosened and Harry sagged, resting his forehead on the pyjama covered chest below him.

"Harry? I.. what?" He chuckled into the fabric, amazed that even the famed Potions Professor was capable of being dazed and confused. After a moment, he felt warm hands slip over his back and hug him close to Severus' chest. He shuddered slightly and snuggled in close;

"You looked... like you needed waking up." He murmured quietly.

"I... yes. Thank you." Severus replied into the thick nest on top of Harry's head, breathing in the faint smells of cinnamon and straw. "Just... memories."

Harry lifted his head and peered up as Severus with concern; "You and I both know that there's no such thing as _just_ memories." He said with a tight throat. Severus closed his eyes in pain for a moment and nodded,

"Indeed, Harry, but still, we must go on." He finished, managing a serious expression.

"Oh, right!" Harry exclaimed, "Dumbledore woke up!" Harry found himself being pushed upright, already missing the warmth of Severus' chest, and retrieved his arms from either side of Severus' torso. "McGonagall sent Kreacher for us; do you think you're ok to get up?"

Snape was already levering himself to sitting, wondering when, exactly, he had decided to allow Harry Potter to coddle him. He couldn't deny that it was... pleasant, however.

"Yes, I believe my reserves are sufficiently recovered." He said once he was sitting up and was sure he wasn't about to fall back to the mattress. "However, I do require a shower."

"Oh! Right, I'll just, um, sort breakfast. Right. See you in a minute." Harry stammered, standing and backing towards the door. He blushed horrendously at the image of Severus naked, in the steam, and bumped into the door before scrabbling for the door handle and tumbling out into the corridor.

Severus watched on with hidden amusement; it would seem that the good Lord Potter had more than just affection for his Professor... his amusement faded after a moment though, as he wondered just what the world would do to him, if it ever realised that he returned the sentiment.

His dream, nightmare truly, had been clear enough on how this war could go, how if either side exposed him; as Death Eater, or spy, he would go down in a pillar of fiendfyre. He did not wish to take dear, broken Harry down with him... but it remained that the young man already held him in high esteem, after the revelations of the summer and would be destroyed by any more loss.

Needless to say, loss was an integral part of war.

It was a pensive man indeed, who disappeared into the bathroom.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Harry could have smacked himself for his childish exit; if only he didn't blush so easily! He settled for pulling his hands through his hair, instead, as he made his way down stairs. A deep breath and a brief full body shake allowed him to collect himself enough to stick his head in through the door to the Blue Room without embarrassing himself further.

To see Dumbledore up, wrapped in a dressing gown and sitting drinking tea on a conjured armchair could have been no stronger a relief to Harry. Ever since Snape had told him the news, a heavy weight had rested on his mind; it had made the mock Order meeting over dinner that much more important and driven home his status as Child Leader of the Light.

To know that Dumbledore was alive and seemingly well lifted that burden again, and banished it to loom menacingly over his future.

The Blue room, being south facing, got only a thin sliver of morning sun and the fresh summer light bounced off the floor, setting Dumbledore's silver hair and beard alight and glinting off the golden stars stitched all over his dressing gown. He looked well; rested and healthy if one didn't look at his hand, but very, very old. McGonagall, on the other hand, appeared not to have slept; Harry didn't blame her, he hadn't managed much himself.

"Good morning, Harry, my boy." Dumbledore greeted with a deeply melancholy voice, Harry screwed up his courage and looked him in the eye. He saw regret, and such deep sorrow that Harry felt like he was drowning in it. He knew that this was the apology of a dying old man, for a lost childhood and a broken innocence. Harry broke the gaze after a long moment and stepped fully into the room, closing the door softly.

He felt his eyes begin to burn and his throat tighten; he knew what he needed to say, but his treatment at _their_ hands was something that he would always feel, that would affect him for the rest of his days and to forgive the man before him for it was a hard thing indeed.

"Good morning, Headmaster." He said, feeling like something inside him had crumbled, some piece of him that had been under great strain and was now free, in the way that ashes blow away on the wind.

"Harry..." He took the strong, papery skinned hand that Dumbledore reached out towards him with and gripped it between his own. The first fat tears that fell, landed on the wrinkled skin as he knelt next to the old man who had played such a big part in his life.

"I forgive you; I felt _her_ when the wards fell, so I do," He said, bringing the hand to his cheek and closing his eyes, sending another wave of tears down his face. Warm fabric fell around him as Dumbledore leaned forwards and drew him into a hug, "I really do... it's just... oh god, sir..."

"I'm so sorry Harry... so sorry..." He heard him choke even as tears fell from ancient, blue eyes and disappeared into a sweeping silver beard. He couldn't hold any anger towards him any more, not after this and he raised a hand to smooth down the white hair comfortingly,

"I know, sir." He knew it was true, but even as he said it, it hurt. He drew back a little and blinked bright green eyes, deep as the ocean with tears, up at Dumbledore, communicating better than words could ever manage the soul deep wounds he now carried. He could see the pain shared in Dumbledore's gaze, even as a blackened hand came up to brush away the tear tracks on Harry's cheek. The reminder rekindled the deep, dull pain in Harry's chest that was Dumbledore's eventual death and he leaned into the caress, closing his eyes and soaking up as much of the comfort as he was able. It wasn't enough,

"I've got to go. I'll bring up some breakfast, um... Severus should be down soon," He stuttered, freeing himself from the drape of warm silk and Dumbledore's arms. He didn't look up again as he backed away and turned to the door. He did, briefly, look at McGonagall and saw that she, too, understood too well; about the Dursleys, about the secrecy and about the pain and anger. He looked away immediately and left.

He never noticed that he'd used Severus' first name in company.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX_

The hallway was quiet; no sign of the Weasley's or Madam Pomfrey yet, and Harry took a deep, calming breath. He hadn't expected to feel so powerfully, so viscerally, when confronted by the Headmaster. Though, in retrospect, he should have; after all, a single package from a friend of his Godfather had thrown his magic into disarray. He was simply glad that, since then, some of the bitterness and anger had faded, suppressed by the realities of war.

Still in a state of deep introspection, he pushed open the door to the kitchen and was rewarded by a small, bony but warm hug.

"Good morning Dobby," He murmured, returning the hug gently.

"Morning, Master Harry. Come, cook, feel better." The elf said as he pulled away, looking up at Harry with a shrewd and slightly sad expression. "Whole House is knowing the Lord is sad but only Dobby is knowing what to do!"

Harry managed a smile and acquiesced, falling into the routine of making pancakes with a cathartic ease.

"Thanks, Dobby."

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

The shower tired him more than he would care to admit and there was a feel to the House that puzzled him, as if the usually gold-tinted light of sun or flame had whitened. He could not seem to put his finger on why this was the case, and the thought slipped his mind as he buckled his belt. He knew his own skin was white and bloodless, that he should probably still be resting but he pulled robes on anyway, determined to make at least a brief appearance.

As he fastened the last of the multitude of buttons he began to feel the beginning of nerves as he hoped that the spell work he had so painstakingly completed had taken properly, held the curse down. He tried to remind himself that the spell either failed or it succeeded, there was no middle ground but it did little to ease the irrational fear. After a final tug on his cuffs he screwed up his courage and emerged from his room, feeling like it was the first time in a very long while.

He gathered his mask around him, still uneasy about the Headmaster's actions of the last year, but finding it difficult to retain his anger given the man's now inevitable death. Halfway down the stairs to the first floor, he spotted Harry coming up from the entrance hall with Dobby. To his chagrin the feeling of relief was immediate and rather powerful; he would not go into this alone, as he had so many times in the past. When his mother had died, when his closest friend had died, when he had returned to Voldemort; always he had gone alone. But now he would face Albus Dumbledore's death with strength by his side.

It was a great comfort.

Harry smiled up at him as they fell into step on the landing, turning towards the blue room together while Dobby directed the floating trays of breakfast behind them.

"Hey." He said quietly, those green eyes half lidded with sadness that belonged on a much older face.

Snape just grunted in return, though he couldn't stop the faint twitch of an answering smile. He was stuck again by the perseverance Harry exhibited every day; Snape knew more than any other of the utter mess that Harry held in his soul and even he could barely fathom how painful life could be for the wizard. Unsurprisingly, he looked brittle and pale; from the small downy feather clinging to his mane he had obviously had another bad night. And despite all that, Harry's presence made everything better.

As did, in a lesser way, the smell of pancakes, something Snape would never admit to. A quick glance at the trays showed that Harry had actively helped with the cooking; one stack of pancakes was slightly paler with a French, crepe like quality, while he knew Dobby always made thicker British style ones. From the look of him, Harry had needed calming and Snape fought the desire to pull him into the folds of his robes, for both their comforts. All the same, it seemed to have worked as the faintness of the reddening under his eyes showed that he had stopped crying some time ago. The calm resignation on his face made him think that he'd probably had an ... upsetting conversation with the Headmaster.

Harry was far too forgiving, that much was clear.

"He looks good, Professor." Came the quiet, contemplative voice. "Not quite there yet though; he didn't offer me a lemon drop even once." That conjured images of cheerful old Albus that Snape wasn't sure he was quite ready to face, not while standing on the other side of the door to the man's sick room.

"I see. Shall we?" He said gesturing to the door, which Harry needed to open to temporarily disable the wards; Snape didn't feel that using his magic was a good idea at that point.

"Right. Oh, McGonagall's in there too," Harry added as he stepped forwards, hand on the door handle.

"I expected nothing less of her," He replied, flicking his wrist at the door. A wry grin just touched Harry's face and he pushed the door open, locking and silencing wards parting like a curtain.


	17. Chapter 17: Uneasy Company

_AN: Avast! I have returned from lands afar! (And also mosquito infected and deliciously sunny,) I bring you this! A New Chapter! _

_snerk. Anyway. I've been on holiday, (Turkey, lovely place,) but I have come back and the first thing I do is edit this chapter for you lot! I've been though it many times now, so I hope it flows well enough, enjoy._

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Uneasy Company.

When Harry opened the notice-me-not ward he could identify Dumbledore's magic as filling the house with the cool, soothing sensation of a sun-lit sea; he chastised himself at being fooled by such a simple ward but the caster was subtle and experienced. She had raised a house of seven children, it was a matter of sanity. He drew himself together as Harry disappeared into the room and swept in after him, his robes reacquiring their billow. Perhaps it was a little cowardly to follow him, but there you have it.

As Harry's had half an hour before, his eyes fixed immediately on the Headmaster. Despite Harry's reassurances, he still felt relief that the man was apparently hale and healthy, though he did look like he was feeling his age; at 114 that was not insignificant. He looked away again before his eyes could drift to the blackened hand and watched as Harry, _Potter!_, set out breakfast on the table Dobby conjured.

"Good morning, Severus, hello again Harry." Came his mild voice, as infuriatingly calm as ever. Snape saw Harry relax a little, relieved by the tone, which confirmed that their previous conversation had not been nearly so mild. He looked back at Dumbledore as he drew out a chair to sit down, managing to maintain his terse demeanour. The Headmaster looked as melancholy as Harry had, for a brief moment, before returning to his cheerful benevolence. Severus was glad; an in-control Dumbledore was easier to handle than the touchy-feely version. Minerva was staying quiet, looking tired and subdued still; apparently Harry's absolution of his Headmaster was not sitting quite as well with her as it could.

"Headmaster, Minerva." He replied out of courtesy only, with a faint nod as he sat down. There was a moment of awkward stillness as everyone in the room paused to watch Dumbledore stand, tension dissipating again only once it was clear that he would not fall, falter or stumble. Harry was still hovering, pouring tea and being watched by a shrewd looking elf. Snape caught his eye for a moment but could glean no information beyond what he already knew from the elf's concern. Eventually the three teachers were sat around the round breakfast table, and Harry joined them. Snape wondered whether that was deliberate; conceding power in this meeting to his elders or whether he was just jittery. The probabilities came down evenly on either side.

"Um, please, help yourselves..." Harry mumbled, blushing very slightly. Snape snorted audibly, earning himself a glare, and tucked into the food, going for a crumpet and the butter. The slightly stilted atmosphere relaxed and gentle murmurs of 'could you pass the Crepes' or 'sugar, Professor?' filled the comfortable quiet.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Harry wasn't sure what his position was, when he was having breakfast with three of the most powerful people in his life, which was why he'd asked for a round table, rather than a square one, a shape which dominated the Wizarding world. He felt that Dumbledore out ranked him; knew that he was more powerful, but this was his House now and there were traditions that he really should study more.

So, he dithered. He poured tea, laid places and fussed, until the others were seated; McGonagall on the right of an empty seat, and Snape on its left, effectively putting Snape as his Second and McGonagall as Dumbledore's. He couldn't work out if this was significant or not, though he suspected that it was, and it just made his head hurt. He gave up trying to work it out, it didn't really make that much difference; he had his authority, they had theirs, and he just hoped that Dumbledore would see him like the adult he had become. Severus did, he knew, but McGonagall hadn't been overt and though she had supported him during the dinner meetings that wasn't necessarily indicative of her personal opinion.

Faintly amused at himself for using the term 'indicative', even in his head, he invited everyone to eat and played the good host. He was amused to see Severus going for a non-sweet option, despite the fact that on the occasions that they had breakfasted together it had become clear that the man was fond of sweet pancakes, particularly the thin, crispy French kind that Harry tended to make. It fitted in with how he had tensed up in McGonagall's presence the previous evening... Harry suddenly didn't know whether that was amusing or saddening; was it a lack of trust, or a game? It was impossible to tell, even given the comfortable camaraderie that had shown itself between the two over dinner.

Harry himself chose a butter croissant, followed by a stack of pancakes, each one of which he rolled up and stuck together with a drizzle of golden treacle. He had to continually wipe his fingers on his napkin, but it was worth it. It helped his ego that Dumbledore was doing something similar in indulging his sweet tooth, with blueberries and cream. The comparative peace was welcome; Harry had an agenda for this breakfast meeting but he hadn't had time to work out how to approach it, so he thought it over, paying half an ear to the small talk.

Dumbledore's delight over the Twin's' contribution was obvious and Harry tuned back in briefly;

"My word, what an excellent idea! I had no idea your club had been so successful!" Dumbledore exclaimed over the Patronus-in-a-Jar and the number of people who had learned the Patronus Charm under Harry's insistence. Harry felt a little cynical when he disbelieved the Headmaster; he doubted very much that the man had let him run the DA without some sort of supervision. After all, the Headmaster of Hogwarts knew everything about anything that happened in those hallowed halls. Barring the Basilisk.

Which brought him neatly back to what they needed to talk about; the wards, Harry's membership in the Order and official sanction for the DA and of course, the most pertinent question of all.

Perhaps Severus and McGonagall had gotten to know him better over the past week, or had simply picked up on the shift in mood, but both became solemn and serious, as did Dumbledore.

"Professor, I think it's time you explained what happened the night before last." He said, a little shiver running up his spine. His words could be considered beyond impertinent but a quick glance at Snape showed no censure; the man wasn't even looking at him, choosing to examine the injured Headmaster, instead. It was clear that he hadn't told Minerva anything either; she was giving him the Long Stare.

"Yes... yes I believe it is." Dumbledore said, carefully folding his napkin and laying it beside his plate. "It is a protracted tale, but all needs telling or none at all."

Harry juggled that sentence in his head until it made sense and then sat back and waited, lacing his hands over his rather full stomach. He could see Snape getting impatient with the Headmaster's dithering, but there was nothing to be done about that; rushing Dumbledore was like rushing a glacier.

"It is the great mystery of your lifetime, Harry... A man of great and terrible power, defeated by his own reflected curse; a curse that had by all accounts been his destruction. And yet, he did not die." Dumbledore looked distant and solemn, staring into the middle distance. Harry could _feel_ Snape's mind whirring, trying to find a connection between Voldemort's survival and Dumbledore's injury. Harry thought the ring, as the vessel for the curse was the most likely candidate,

"The Mark never faded and rumours of a dark shade began in Albania... Rumours you, yourself, confirmed at the end of your first year, Harry. It was clear the Voldemort had indeed survived with his ability to perform magic intact. So my research began, first with Unicorn blood and on, through dark tomes that sickened me to read."

Harry shivered as the memory of Quirrelmort, mouth gaping open and painted in shimmering silver blood, assaulted him. He closed his eyes briefly and refocused, calming and concentrating.

"We had hoped that his second defeat at your hands would protect you, once you left your mother's wards for your second year, and I believe that did keep the shade away, until your fourth year. Lucius Malfoy, however, was a despicable and unforeseen element, and so the Diary arrived in Hogwarts. An object imprinted with some part of Tom Riddle, with the ability to posses its wielder. But that I did not know, until everything was done and you had, once again, saved the day."

Harry's eyes flicked to Snape, seeing the irritation on his face.

"The most compelling of my many theories at the time revolved around Voldemort, as a mere shadow, piercing the wards and speaking to his old familiar, and I was too busy, petitioning the Ministry for Muggle rights, to see the alternatives. While Malfoy's plan to prevent the legislation going through had failed, Tom Riddle had very nearly succeeded. When you presented me with the Diary, my foolishness became obvious to me, but I once again hoped that he had been defeated.

A Prophecy made in your fourth year destroyed that hope; _Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was._ Defeated, perhaps, _lying alone and friendless_, perhaps, but gone? No.

With the knowledge that even with the Diary destroyed, the shade inside with it, Voldemort lived on, I returned to my research. Deep contemplation of the Diary showed not possession, the extension of a wizard's soul into an object or person, but rather a broken edge of what might once have been a soul, burned and destroyed by Basilisk venom. I had great trouble gleaning any information from it but with time and study came clarity."

Harry couldn't resist another shudder, he wished he could leave this disturbing conversation, go play chess or even clean, but at the same time, he needed to know. His part in the future was clear, in both success and failure, and he needed this information to tip the scales towards success. It was not easy to maintain his composure.

"So my research took a turn, looking into magic of the soul, something so twisted and foul that I could not find books openly, but find them I did and I had a name for this twisted, broken remnant of soul that Tom Riddle had created; a Horcrux." He paused to let that sink in and Harry memorised the word, aware that Snape and McGonagall were doing the same.

"Through the most heinous of sins; the murder of the girl now remembered only as Moaning Myrtle, Tom Riddle, at the tender age of sixteen had shriven a piece of his soul from his body and pinned it like an insect to cork within his Diary, creating one of these Horcruxes."

Harry knew he was white, or possibly green, and he could feel an invisible tremor rippling through his muscles. His teachers looked equal parts horrified, shocked and grim.

"In doing so, he had secured his soul to this world, tethered by the life remaining in the piece of soul he had hidden, far away from the rebounding Killing Curse."

Harry drew a deep breath and the shudders raced through him, "But the Diary was destroyed; nothing survives Basilisk venom without Phoenix tears. The Tom Riddle in the Chamber died in front of me."

"No Harry, nothing but the Basilisk died that day; think, my boy! Were you able to see the Thestrals as you left that year? No... you had not yet seen death. A fragment of soul was destroyed, yes, but Voldemort survives. The question, however, remained; if Voldemort could not be killed while he possessed a Horcrux, would he have staked his life on a single object? And had he been so confident, would he have left that object in the self-serving care of one Lucius Malfoy?"

And Harry knew, there and then, that Voldemort have torn his soul again; for a man who so feared death, once would not be enough, or twice. He could see the grim faces of his teachers as they came to the same conclusion as Dumbledore,

"The ring." Snape stated; no inflection in his voice.

"The ring," Dumbledore replied, staring absently at his injured hand and flexing the fingers. "An Heirloom of Tom's maternal side, the Gaunt family; the only remaining Pureblood branch of the Slytherin line. I believe Tom felt it fitting to secrete his soul within it. Covered in a great many enchantments and concealments, I unearthed it in the ruins of the Gaunt family home, now no more than a hovel. Upon destroying the soul within, I foolishly believed my success and took up the ring to study further. The temptation to wear it was heavy, unnaturally so, and I recognised the stone upon it as one of great fame, I could not resist. The rest, you can see with your own eyes; the curse took quickly, and I fled, hoping only to survive long enough to tell this very tale. I had hoped that you, Harry, could be protected from this a little longer, but that would have been a mistake, wouldn't it?"

Harry felt numbed, it was impossible to think with so many conflicting pieces of information vying for attention; Voldemort was immortal, Dumbledore was not, Voldemort's soul was broken into pieces... He nodded and shut his eyes briefly in pain.

"I... I do wish I could afford that; not knowing, but I can't, and by not telling anyone, you jeopardised the lives of everyone in the Wizarding world. Had you died, no one would have known that his Horcruxes need to be destroyed." Harry managed to look up and was a little shocked by the meek contrition he found in Dumbledore's expression. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses, "Bloody Hell."

"Indeed, Mr Potter." McGonagall added, no reproof for his language in her tone. "I am disappointed in you, Albus! Running off like some... some...!"

"Gryffindor?" Snape asked,

"Yes! How dare you risk everything!"

Harry let out a long breath and slumped back in his chair as McGonagall's Scottish brogue got thicker and her berating got louder. Snape looked... looked like not much of anything; the man's mask was firmly over his features as, Harry presumed, he worked out what to think of this. Personally, Harry could feel his control slipping minutely and the need to Occlude had grown steadily. He could put it off a little longer, but he would risk going off on one if he left it too long. He sighed again and, with that in mind, cleared his throat.

"How many?" He asked, his meaning crystal clear.

"I... do not know. The Diary was certainly the first, but the ring may have been the second, third or tenth he made, there is no way of knowing from the artefact itself. You have my assurance that I will share any information I may acquire..."

He narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster, as did Snape, and leaned forwards slightly, "There is something already. Explain."

And so the Headmaster explained. Snape would not be teaching potions in September; a man named Horace Slughorn would take the position, while Severus would take up the DADA post. Snape looked royally _pissed_ at that and it took several long minutes of explaining, with words like 'Head of House' and 'favoured pupil' bandied around, before Snape conceded that yes, they needed the man's memories and no, Legilimency was not the right way to get them. Harry stayed quiet; he knew that Snape would be an excellent DA instructor, but he felt strangely bereft that he wouldn't be butting heads with the man over potions anymore; particularly given the effort he had already put in. He would not let it go to waste, but all the same; his motivation had been _Severus_, not his potions grade.

"There are other memories I believe you should see, Harry, but not today; it can wait until we are secure under the wards of Hogwarts. Slughorn may not come entirely willingly, however, and I ask that you write him a letter, personally, Harry. He is a man of opportunity, and favoured your mother; if any time is right to use the title of the Chosen One, this may be it."

Harry nodded, only minorly irritated, and silence fell as the four allowed themselves time to drink tea, mulling over the events of the last five years in the light of this new information. Harry, more than the rest, was having problems handling all the additional information and he knew there was something he was not seeing, something dark and horrific that he couldn't bear to look at. He shook his head discretely and decided it was time to move on, leaving the topic to rest for now.

"Headmaster, I believe it is time to formally introduce me to the Order, don't you?" He said, trying for a wry smile, but not quite managing it. McGonagall bristled, much as he would expect Molly Weasley to, but Snape relaxed so faintly that Harry thought he was probably the only one to notice.

"Yes... yes, I believe you are correct... but, Harry, you will have to leave your friends behind." He said in a rather doom-laden voice; Harry made a long slow blink and sighed slightly.

"Yes... I know. All I ask is to be able to share enough to prepare them for what is coming." He could feel Snape's eyes on him, remembering that he hadn't been sharing everything with the pair for some time, that this was no different.

"Albus, I must object; if not for security reasons, then at least his _age_! How, _precisely, _do you imagine he will receive the necessary Auror grade-standard while moonlighting as a Member-" McGonagall interjected, having finally run out of restraint. Harry looked to Snape for support but the man simply glanced back at Dumbledore.

"Minerva, we of all people should be able to see that Harry Potter is no longer a child. I highly doubt that his contribution could be considered 'moonlighting' and, unless you have been very busy while I was away, he is not even a member yet." Harry couldn't look at Dumbledore as he said that; there was too much guilt on his face and in his voice, though it faded into wry amusement by the end. Snape seemed to be having the same problem and his face was turned away from the table, towards the door behind Harry. McGonagall must have visually folded because Dumbledore continued;

"Very well, then... I will be calling a meeting this evening, I will formalise it then." Harry grew wary when that damn twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eye, "No doubt the Twins will be most pleased."

Harry groaned, the previous tension broken, and dropped his head onto his hand. "They're going to go bonkers... so much for looking mature."

McGonagall cleared her throat and straightened; "I don't believe that will be a problem, Mister Potter. He is a man after your own heart, Albus, I dare say the Order hasn't noticed the lack of formal meeting, the way Harry runs his dinners. Honestly, Lord Potter _indeed_." She said with an outraged sniff.

Harry felt his face heat and he fiddled with his napkin, "I just said what needed to be said." He mumbled, and promptly changed the subject. "Like with the Map; I was surprised you hadn't asked for it, once I took a minute to think about it."

"It was your inheritance, Harry, and I believed it to be little more than a child's toy. Shacklebolt and Minerva have informed me otherwise, however. I would much like to see it."

Harry settled down to explain the particulars, asking Dobby to clear the table and bring him the Map.

Dumbledore started out amused, poking his wand at the entrances to various passages and reading off the passwords. The Map didn't have the password to his office though, so Harry explained about his Father, Remus and Sirius collecting the passwords manually, which led on to Wormtail and the conversation became much more serious.

"Yes... the warding of the tunnels has proceeded apace and I fear that Hogwarts becomes less a school each day and more a fortress." He commented with a faraway stare. "I had hoped never to seal her off again, but alas... Needless to say, I put the matter too far out of mind."

Harry nodded understandingly, after all, Dumbledore had had the Shrieking Shack tunnel built and guarded by the Whomping Willow; it was a heavy oversight that it had not been guarded at the other end as well.

"Remus and the Twins are talking about making one for Diagon," Harry said as they re-folded the Map, "but I have no idea if it could work in a place already so saturated with magic."

"Personally, I'm not sure if that is legal, let alone morally just! Such an invasion of privacy..." McGonagall muttered tersely, covering her agitation with a sip of tea. His habitual glace at Snape showed no reaction to that; in fact, he looked a little blank over all...

"Nor is sealing off a school full of children from the outside world, and yet, we prepare to do so." Replied Dumbledore, looking tired himself.

"Right then; last thing, before Madam Pomfrey gets here." Harry said, dropping the Map onto the table with a soft smack. He could have sworn he saw Snape cringe with distaste. "It's not Order business, I'm asking you as a student here, but this is all wrapped up in the war. I want to continue the DA. I've been talking with, um... just about everyone about it; things I want to cover, how to go about it, all sorts. Now, I just need your permission to open it to all students; make it official." Harry spoke with all the poise of the Head of House he had become, meeting Dumbledore's gaze solidly and reassuring the man that he had thought this through.

"Granted." The Headmaster replied immediately with a broad smile on his face. "On one condition; that the Defence Association be affiliated with the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Harry just quirked a half grin and glanced at Snape, who was pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed; the slight movement of his lips could well have been cursing. "Done, sir."

Negotiations thus concluded, Harry stood and pocketed the map, his elders followed suit formally and he found himself shaking Dumbledore's hand; "I will see you this evening, Harry, I must be getting back to Hogwarts."

Harry could feel McGonagall bristling and he felt it best that he retreated before she started going off on one. "No rush, Headmaster, stay as long as you like!" Nearly to the door, he turned and fled into the corridor, Snape silent but close on his heels. They just caught the beginning of McGonagall's lecture before the silencing ward swung closed with the door;

"Albus Dumbledore, you are going _nowhere_ until Poppy has a look at you! Why in all my years-"

Harry let out a long sigh and scuffed his hands through his hair before looking up at Severus with a tired smile; the man looked pale and the rings under his eyes had become more pronounced. He was reluctant to ask any more of him today, but at the same time he didn't think he could wait until reasonable bed time to Occlude.

"Spit it out, Potter." He practically growled as he stalked back to the stairs, obviously trying rather hard not to slouch. Harry broke his stare and strode after him;

"I need to Occlude, sir... Seeing the Headmaster was a bit... yeah." He said as he came along side and hovered unobtrusively when Snape began to climb the stairs. He was a lot better, but all the same, Harry could imagine him wavering in a way he couldn't have three weeks ago.

Severus just heaved a large sigh and nodded, "Very well. You have until lunch before I come in after you."

"Thanks... it means a lot." Harry said, dithering at the top of the stairs. He didn't want to assume; Severus had allowed him to stay in his room, nap there but...

Another growl gave him his answer and Snape gripped the back of his neck. The touch swept away the tension in his shoulders in a moment and he let himself be steered into his room. He felt more settled when they were closed into the gold and green space; Severus was almost leaning on him and he led the tired, weakened man to sit on the bed covers. He didn't stop to think how Dumbledore and McGonagall would react to him putting his Potions, sorry, DADA Professor to bed in his own room, or he might have paused. As it was, however, it felt natural to fuss and make sure the Professor was appropriately covered in duvet; he _was_ pale and he _did_ look tired, particularly after climbing the stairs. It didn't help that he was reluctant to lie down himself, he didn't want to look too closely at his mind again; it was never easy and every evening he brushed past that bit, for the most part, and hid in Occluded sleep instead.

"Mr Po... Harry, come here." He stilled his hands on his notes, which he had been mindlessly shuffling, and turned towards the voice.

"He apologised, Severus... for sending me back." He whimpered, hunching into his robes.

"And you forgave him, noble fool that you are. Come, I will not repeat myself again." Severus replied with a quiet and commanding tone; Harry complied without thinking, reluctantly shrugging off his robes to reveal the pyjamas underneath. He had only intended to go sleep with Buckbeak; Dumbledore's recovery was a pleasant, if mixed, blessing. Severus was sitting up against the headboard, his left knee raised and an elbow slung nonchalantly over it. He twitched the duvet back and Harry slunk in, curling a little closer to the middle of the bed, and Severus, than he normally would. He felt the covers settle over him and screwed his eyes shut. He was tense; his shoulders curled in towards his chest and his knees drawn up, because he knew that although he had been able to forgive the Headmaster, there were parts of him that rejected that idea and _that_ was why this was necessary. It was also why this would be difficult; his emotions would have cleaved to his magic and it would maintain them until he could pick the two apart again, memory by memory. He felt the mattress shift and a warm hand came to rest on his shoulder;

"Harry, calm. You have decided to do this, here and now, and Merlin forbid anyone try to stop you when you have decided something." He allowed himself to be rolled onto his back and straightened his legs out; "I will be right here." Snape hovered over him, leaning on one elbow and plucked the glasses of his face. "Now clear your mind. Close your eyes..."

Harry listened, this time, and Severus's smooth voice and warm magic guided him through what he had done every evening for the past month and a half; he forgot about physical sensation, allowed his thoughts to drift, free of his conscious control and sank into the surface layers of his own mind. The hand that had taken his glasses returned, stroking the bare skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder soothingly; chasing away the last vestiges of tension and allowing him to fall freely through the more turbulent layers, coming to rest, unsurprisingly, amongst his newest and fondest memories of one Severus Snape.

It was peaceful there and he didn't have to continually suppress his grief; it was so very tempting to simply fall asleep amongst the flakes of memory, but he remained resolute; there was pain that did not need to be felt, here and he would not stand for it. And so he screwed up his courage; buoyed by Severus' magic, which filtered through like sunlight in dawn mist, and emerged from his safety into the rough and painful place were destructive, guilt ridden and angry memories floated. By allowing himself to think of Dumbledore when he had most despaired, when he was sending Harry back to the Dursleys, he emerged from the safety and set to work.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Severus watched as Harry's frame went completely limp and the expression drained off his face. Without the world-weary set around his eyes, Harry Potter looked astonishingly young and Severus felt a pang of guilt, along with a healthy measure of trepidation; Harry was his student and this... this _closeness_ they had fallen into so easily was vastly inappropriate. Yes, it had been Harry who had granted him his absolute trust, yes, it had been Harry who had cooked him breakfast when Dobby was busy, but it had been Severus who had pulled Harry down for a much needed nap the afternoon before. He had been tired and of somewhat... poor judgement but all the same, Harry was a sixteen year old!

And yet...

He sighed and slid down to lie beside him, laying a hand gently on his chest, under the bed clothes; he could feel the gentle shifting of chest as he breathed and his heartbeat thrummed against his palm. His body felt heavy and he let himself sink into a daze, paying little attention to anything but the movement under his hand and the slow stirring of his thoughts.

_And yet, he looks out at the world through eyes no younger than mine._

_What would Minerva say..._

He let his gaze drift to the window, the curtains were open and a thin shaft of late morning sun shone on the dark hardwood floor and he felt a trickle of amusement; Harry _would_ have an east-facing window, accursed morning person that he was. He also wondered if Harry was the source of his now-habitual morning cup of tea. At Hogwarts he had never bothered, waiting instead until breakfast in the Great Hall. He had to admit that it made the morning a rather more pleasant experience.

There was a pot on the windowsill, too; he had never thought Harry a great one for Herbology, but then, he hadn't believed him apt to do extra Potions work either, but there it was. There were three fleshy green seedlings just poking up above the edge of the terracotta, each with a pair of round leaves in a subtly different shade of green. He thought he recognised the species, but he couldn't put his finger on it, perhaps-

A faint hitch in Harry's breath captured his entire attention; was this the beginning of a nightmare or had he reached a particularly unpleasant memory? There was little way of telling how much Harry had accomplished already, or what he might be remembering. Severus' chest constricted and he shifted closer to the frail body next to him.

"Strength, Harry..." He murmured, rubbing a gentle circle over Harry's breastbone with his thumb. Like last time, Harry's temperature had dropped slightly, though not nearly as severely; presumably because he hadn't worn himself out before hand, this time. Either way, Harry would feel it when he woke up so he gathered up a little magic, all he could spare without setting himself back, and cast a warming charm through the wand strapped to his wrist. He attached it to Harry's pyjamas and continued his soothing motions. The hitch did not return but he couldn't tell whether Harry had slipped into normal dreaming or was still working on the mess that had become of his mind.

Severus shivered himself, at that; his own brief forays into Harry's head had been humbling, frightening and disturbing all at once. He marvelled once again that Harry was still sane at all.


	18. Chapter 18: Tacit Agreement

_AN: And so, another chapter. _

_Today is dedicated to **HeartsGlow,** who's helping me spot the little errors as they read. ^_^_

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Tacit Agreement.

Harry's metaphor for his mind had broken down; the agitated layer of memories still howled and tore past him when he reached out but there was a large, solid mass of stagnant magic in the middle of it. It hung there irritatingly out of reach, on the other side of a riptide that he really didn't want to touch. It tore by too fast to handle at the moment and unlike those few memories of Sirius which he could at least look at, even if they made him cry bitterly, these memories were raw and uncontrollable.

He gathered his strength and tried to forge through the mess but the moment he touched it he heard the words "Kill the spare!" and fled; he couldn't handle seeing that memory now, or any of the others that rattled in that layer. Like the Veil, or the feel of Arthur Weasley's flesh ripping under his fangs. He retreated all the way back to where he had started and let himself be soothed by his memory of napping next to Severus. Warmth trickled into him and along with it the glorious sensation of Severus' magic, he met it with the emotional equivalent of an embrace and the dark, velveteen feel of it cocooned him. Severus' magic _knew_ Occlumency and Harry felt an upsurge of confidence. He reached out again and this time, the memories parted for him. He didn't look at them, or fear them and though they still fought for his attention he could focus on Severus' magic and its comfort. He reached for the stagnant magic that had bound up his memories of Dumbledore and this time he actually began to see the memories properly.

Since they had all been covered and bound up in the anger he had felt over them, his magic had intimately connected with them, which was why experiencing them while 'awake' had caused the accidental magic when he had destroyed Dumbledore's office. Now, with the blind anger and rage dissipating, the magic needed returning to his core, where it would be under his control.

Protected and comforted by Snape's magic and presence, he began pulling the magic back to its rightful place, watching, experiencing the memories as he did so. It was a source of great sadness, now...

He watched as Dumbledore gave up his childhood for the sake of his survival, year after year.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

Severus carefully brushed the tears off Harry's cheek with a handkerchief, a deep frown on his face. Harry didn't seem to be distressed, his breathing and heart rate were normal, but it was obvious how difficult this was, from the little silver drops that rolled down Harry's face at regular intervals.

It was truly against his nature to be hurt by another's tears but he couldn't help but feel the need to save Harry from his. Logically, he knew that this was a cathartic, necessary process but he still wanted to release Harry from this state and banish his sadness. As a man of great self control, he resisted and was able to continued providing comfort without doing something rash. That in itself was a foreign act; he had rarely been this physically close to anyone in his lifetime and it soothed him that he could provide this for Harry.

When the tears did not abate his concern grew and he gathered the limp and too-small form close to his chest, tucking a messy haired head against his shoulder. He wrapped strong arms around Harry's shoulders and back and breathed in the soft smell of cinnamon and pancakes;

"Accursed Gryffindor..." He muttered, running his hand over the back of Harry's head, noting how his hair was silken and smooth but brittle at the ends. He heaved a sigh and tucked his face against the top of Harry's head, muttering about soft hearts in an irritated but soothing tone.

Eventually the flow of tears stopped as Harry slipped into Occluded sleep and Severus, unaware that Harry was on his way back to him, simply hugged him tighter and waited. Eventually, he too, fell asleep.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

Molly Weasley was confused. She had known Harry might sleep in, given the late night the day before, despite his afternoon nap. She had known that Minerva had stayed behind after dinner the night before and that she would have been told about Dumbledore. She had known that Severus Snape had exhausted himself healing the Headmaster. She had not been surprised to see Poppy arrive at eleven, as she was marshalling her youngest two to clear out the old duelling room next to the Lab, and had sent her to the Blue Room.

She had not been surprised to find Harry still asleep at half twelve when she went to fetch him for cleaning duty. She _had_ been very surprised to find him both fully clothed and clutching the lapels of an equally clothed and firmly asleep Severus Snape.

Harry, she had never seen so calm in sleep, and Severus she had never seen so relaxed; as confused and bubbling with motherly indignation as she was, she couldn't bear to wake them. Not only that, but Severus had once told her that waking Harry unnaturally was as bad as attempting to wake a sleep walker, unless he was obviously dreaming. So, instead, she watched them sleep and studied their faces.

She truly had never seen them so peaceful... Harry's grip on Severus' robe was comfortable, not frantic or tense. His temple was resting against the man's collarbone and his head pillowed on a black-clad shoulder. The arm of said shoulder was wrapped around Harry's back protectively while Severus' other draped over his waist. And their faces... Severus' was turned towards Harry's head and their expressions were so very soft...

Eventually, she left; she needed to fend off Poppy and think about Severus Snape; MSciD, PhD, MaP and Professor. She would watch, she decided, and see.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

In the moment between waking up and opening his eyes, Harry was confused, oddly comfortable and his heart was racing from the nightmare that had sent him tumbling out of sleep. The contrast between _there_ and here was shocking and his eyes sprung open. A pale arc of skin was only inches away from his face, heavy arms over his torso weighed him down comfortably and he was warm; warmer than he thought he should be.

"Potter?"

"Ah!" He twitched and flailed a little, lifting his head and meeting Severus' sleep-glazed eyes. His voice was rough too, as if Harry had woken him up.

"Are you well, Harry? What..." Harry watched him blink slowly, "Ah. I apologise for falling asleep."

He brushed away the remnants of Occlumency, sleep and nightmare with a long shuddering breath and slumped back to how he had been lying before, though the arm over his waist had disappeared. It reappeared; raking its fingers thought Harry's hair and making him look back up at Severus, who looked deeply, if covertly, concerned.

"Speak, Potter." He ordered with a forbidding Professor-Snape frown.

"One, two," He choked and coughed some of the sleepiness out of his voice, "Three; testing, testing..." He grinned at the end and was rewarded by having his hair abandoned and the covers thrown over his face.

"Insufferable, utterly incorrigible, moronic..." Was the muttered, growled and rough reply and Harry could tell that Severus was seriously considering rolling over and going back to sleep.

"Sorry, sir. I'll resist in future." Harry mumbled, tossing his head to remove the fabric in his face and settling back on Severus' shoulder. He refused to think about how... cosy they would look. He almost missed the tightening of Severus' muscles; almost.

"I... I am not here in my capacity as your Professor, Harry..." And Harry understood. It was true of Harry, too; he had not asked for Severus' company for his skills in Occlumency alone.

"I know." He said only just loudly enough to be heard. His heart started thumping with nerves and his face warmed, so he buried it in the shoulder of Severus' robes.

"This..." Severus' torso shifted a little, as if he was gesturing, "would not be looked upon favourably."

"I know that, too. It could get you killed." Harry replied with a heavy dosing of dread and horror.

"No more so than my... other work, but yes, exposure is a heavy risk. But... you are young. Barely sixteen. And I... do not want to keep secrets from the people I should trust. " And yet the arm around his shoulders did not move and Harry could feel Severus' breath on the top of his head...

"We both know I've not been young for a while, Dumbledore must know that, by now, too." Harry tried not to sound too bitter; now was not the time. He pressed close and drew as much comfort as he could. "This..." He said, making a vague gesture over Severus' chest to encompass them both, "This is good, healthy."

"It is." Severus' grip on him tightened and he was able to relax again; "Very well... I will not resist this... strange... thing."

Harry hadn't expected Severus to find this easy; Harry _did_ look young, he _did_ look like his father and he _was_ Severus' student, so he let him off; "We'll see, together. Ok?"

"I... Yes. Yes, we will."

"Thank you, Severus... truly."

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

When Harry left to have to have a shower, after trying and failing to convince Severus to let Poppy Pomfrey have a look at him, Severus remained in his bed. It was a very strange feeling; to be welcomed in someone else's space like that, far less natural than it had felt to welcome Harry into his own. He wondered if that was the fault of his lifestyle, so isolated and lonely, or his profession, never trusting or relying on those around him. They were not happy thoughts.

Dumbledore would know; probably within moments of seeing them, if he did not already... Severus found himself not minding; Albus was not a rash man, he would watch and wait. Meddling would come later, and if Albus did not approve of the relationship, then Snape, the teacher, and Severus, the man, would have a problem.

But... thought Severus, the man, if Albus thought it a poor choice, then he would, in all likelihood, be correct and Severus would free Harry from the commitment they had silently entered into. Fear crept into his chest and he turned onto his side, seeking the faint warmth Harry had left behind. It was not much; Harry's chilled state and the intervening time had dissipated most of it, but it was enough for now.

Minerva's reaction, Molly's reaction, did not seem quite so frightening anymore.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Harry watched Severus sleep, just for a little bit, once he was clean and dry again. He sat on the side of the bed and just... watched. For a face so stiff, so often contorted into scowls, it looked peaceful, now. Harry was honoured that he had stayed at all, let alone felt comfortable enough to get some more much-needed sleep. Given how much of the past day and a half he had spent asleep, Harry thought that he'd probably be doing so, in decreasing amounts, for some time; it was comparable to the magical exhaustion Harry had suffered... perhaps he would wake up for lunch, perhaps not. Either way, Harry needed to show his face downstairs, Poppy Pomfrey would be there soon, if she wasn't already... He gave a sigh and picked himself up off the edge of the bed.

"Sleep well, Severus, I won't be far away." He said, leaning down and gently touching his forehead to Severus' temple, before pulling on a set of robes and making his way to the stairs.

Madam Pomfrey and Molly Weasley were suspiciously silent when he reached the kitchen and were watching him just a little too much. He gave them a questioning look and he swore Mrs Weasley actually _blushed_ before she looked away.

"Good morning, Mr Potter." Madam Pomfrey said, breaking the awkward silence. He relaxed slightly and wove into the room proper, finally letting the door close behind him. Dobby was bustling about doing ... _something_ arcane with eggs, so he moved to make a pot of tea.

"Good morning, ma'am, it's good to see you." He said with a genuine smile, "'morning, Mrs Weasley."

"Same to you, Harry. Are you quite alright? You slept terribly late, it's nearly lunchtime..." She said, with that same unexplainable flush.

"Yeah, just... it was a long night, night before last." He said, looking around for the other Weasley's while the kettle boiled, he didn't want to mention Dumbledore if they could walk in at any moment. He looked in askance to Mrs Weasley;

"My children are in the duelling room, Harry. We can talk," She said, smoothing her apron fussily; it was cleaner than usual, presumably because Dobby had taken over the kitchen. Harry, for once, was relieved that his friends were not around, though he did feel bad about the secrets; it was rare that he kept anything from Ron or Hermione.

"Right..." He returned to the table with the kettle in one hand and the rest of the tea things appeared with a quiet snap of Dobby's fingers, Harry was too distracted to notice and just poured the water into the teapot. He ran a hand through slightly damp and extremely messy just-towelled hair and gave a heavy sigh as he flopped into his chair at the head of the table. "Thanks for coming, Madam Pomfrey. How is he?" He said, his grief surfacing just enough to make his shoulders droop and face take on a fragile expression.

"I believe that Severus has told you the worst... I am afraid I have little further to contribute." She said with an obvious tremor in her voice. Mrs Weasley reached for her hand and the pair clutched at each other in comfort. He wanted no more than to go back to Severus and do the same, but there were bigger things here;

"How-" it came out as a croak and he cleared his throat, staring at the steeping teapot, "How long?"

"A year, perhaps two at the most..." Harry winced and propped his head in his hands, screwing his eyes shut; not long enough for the old man to see peace again, perhaps not even long enough to see the war through... "Severus did well, but it's not a curse you can stop, bound to the soul as it is. We're lucky we have that long." There was a pensive silence after that pronouncement, so Harry poured tea, to have something to do with his hands. Cradling the warmth of his cup, his head hung low and his hair falling over his face, he wished again that Severus was here, or that he could go to him...

Harry heard Pomfrey steel herself with a long breath, after a minute or so of quiet tea drinking, and he looked up, his face still brittle, to see the war-horse expression developing on the Matron's face; "Now, Mr Potter, you have lessons to plan."

He drew himself upright and nodded, regaining his composure, "Right," He banished thoughts of his cosy, warm bed and its occupant, of what would happen to Hogwarts when it lost its Headmaster, and of burning, withering curses that killed slowly and his face became hard and determined.

"Dobby? Could you fetch the DA folder on my desk? And the book I got from Luna." He said, his brow furrowing slightly as his mind began to churn over his plans.

He barely registered Molly Weasley getting up and telling Dobby that she would mind the meringue, before he popped away. He didn't think Dobby would pay any notice to Snape's sleeping presence, or comment on it... probably.

As it turned out, he was correct and Dobby went back to his edifice of whipped eggs and sugar without a word. Harry flipped through the improvised folder under the Matron's eagle eye and pulled out his, rather tentative, plans for teaching healing spells. He handed it over for Pomfrey to read and they plunged into discussion almost immediately, trying to leave the Headmaster's fate in the hidden corners of their minds;

"You must restrict this charm to OWL students and above, provisionally. It takes more power than you seem to imagine,"

"The _Tourniqus_ charm is of good value but you must ensure it is taught correctly, miss-use can cause-"

"Yes, however you must renew the _Vagal Vigus _potion every three months, or it will become ineffective."

"Would a Shield Charm stop a healing spell, Ma'am?" "In some cases, however-"

"I assume you have mentioned this to the Order? It is of good use... It would be wise to find a way of recording-"

And on it went; Harry's grim mood melted into merely serious, eventually, as they decided how and with what to equip a young and potentially panicky student body. Molly Weasley interrupted them only occasionally as she laid the table around them and Harry's copious notes.

"Yes, I agree... I will take her aside and offer her my support at the beginning of term, if she acquiesces." Poppy was saying as Harry gathered up the notes into something approaching useful order; there was no space left on the table.

"Thanks, ma'am, I'll talk to her on the train, if we can get some privacy. Luna's great, I think she'll make a good instructor." He replied, tapping the parchments square and bundling them in the folder.

"Now, Harry, it's her OWL year," injected Molly as she put the soup tureen on the table, "Do take care not to take all her time."

Harry hid his cringe, he knew what balancing exams and ... extracurricular activities, was like after his own fifth year. "Good point... " He pulled out his master schedule again, only to have it disappear behind a napkin,

"Later, Harry. Go over it with Ginny," Scolded Mrs Weasley with a stern glare, "Now that's more than enough talk of war for one day! Honestly... you're as bad as Bill and Arthur..." She muttered as she headed to the duelling room to fetch her children.

"Mr Potter, Harry... I... I cannot say that this all isn't distressing," Madam Pomfrey began saying from his right; he turned to look at her, stuffing the schedule away again and putting the napkin on the table. "But I am encouraged that you are doing this." A hard glint got into her eye and she leant in and gripped his forearm, "The students will need to defend themselves, as much as we would like to deny it."

Raised voices filtered in from the hall; Molly Weasley's chiding tones carried well. Harry looked down at his folder and drew a shaky breath, his own doubts rising.

"I... I don't want to raise an army, Poppy..." He said plaintively, feeling his true age for once, "But... first Quirrell, then Lockhart, Umbridge... we're so _vulnerable!_"

"And I've been telling Albus for years that we need to run a first aid course. I know, Harry, I know." He looked back up at her with gratitude and a small smile. She was looking both determined and amused; "and it will be a bit of fun! Your little club was so very popular last year, why little Nigel Wolpert told me that it was the best thing since Quidditch!"

Harry gave a choked laugh, remembering the little strawberry-blond scrap being levitated around the room, "He's a right little character, it's true." He mused, getting up to put the folder on the sideboard. "I'll do my best to keep it fun, ma'am, Merlin knows everyone could do with it." He stood for a second, staring at the brown parchment and rubbing his thumb over the rough surface. His pensive expression melted away slowly and his determination returned; he gave the folder a last tap and turned back to the table. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey, seriously."

She 'humph'ed and straightened her back, reaching up to pull hat pins out of her hair and take her nurses cap off for lunch. "That is quite alright, Mr Potter." She said primly, though there was a hint of steel in her gaze that made him fidget a bit as he sat back down. "But if you hide Severus from me again, don't expect me to be so forgiving!"

He let out a surprised laugh and grinned; "It wasn't deliberate, I promise!" He said, fiddling with his napkin again, "We were doing some Occlumency, we'd only finished quarter of an hour before I came down." He said, truthfully. What Severus had said about not keeping any relationship they entered into secret was still churning around in his head. Not that they could go _public_-public, but Harry could sympathise with his desire to not sneak around any more than necessary.

Madam Pomfrey looked a little surprised, and pleased. "Getting on a little better then?" she enquired, hanging her hat on the back of her chair.

"Yeah, quite a bit... I think I impressed him, somehow..." He said, not realising quite how dopey his smile was. Needless to say, his unease about the DA was thoroughly forgotten. Madam Pomfrey's raised eyebrow and inquisitive look went unnoticed. "He's still really tired..." He murmured, half to himself.

"Honestly, that man! You really must let me have a look at him, casting a containment spell like that... however did he get the ring off without burning himself?" She said, obviously bristling over Severus' stubborn attitude to medicine. Harry gritted his teeth and gripped the arm of his chair with white knuckles to fend off the images of Severus' brunt, bleeding hands. "Harry." Came Madam Pomfrey's stern voice; "Harry, he was burned, wasn't he? I really must insist you take me to him."

He uncurled his fingers one by one and rubbed his hands over his face, "I healed it... he made a phoenix tear burn salve, he didn't even scar... but it was pretty bad, yeah."

There was the clatter of footsteps and Ron's distinctive whine coming from the short corridor to the lab and Harry looked to Pomfrey quickly; "They can't know, ma'am, seriously now." He said catching her eyes with that disillusioned look on his face.

The nurse looked disapproving but sat back with a nod; "Very well, Mr Potter, but I will be seeing Professor Snape this afternoon!"

"Fine, but you let me wake him up, alright?" He said, not sure whether Severus would want to be in his own bed, or perhaps the little sitting room at the end of the top floor. The Weasley's arrived then and Harry gave them a genuine smile in welcome.

"Agreed," She replied, out of the corner of her mouth as she unfolded her napkin fussily.

"'Morning Harry!" greeted Ron, loudly, and lunch began.

Ron whisked him up into a Quidditch discussion during which they couldn't agree on whether Madam Hooch or Oliver Wood was the better coach. It had come down to skills verses enthusiasm, by the time people were finishing up their soup. Ginny was adamant that Hooch was better, arguing that anyone could be enthusiastic, but Ron remained doubtful. Harry was undecided, unwilling to tip the discussion arbitrarily, and mopped up the last of his soup with a piece of bread.

Mrs Weasley had a long suffering look that she shared with Madam Pomfrey and Harry found secretly rather amusing;

"Ron, Ginny, calm down, the captains'll do their jobs and Madam Hooch will do hers!" She said with finality, Harry did note that he wasn't included in the scolding though; he glanced down at his plate and tried to conceal the feeling of weight on his shoulders. He plastered a mild smile on his face and bundled his napkin onto his empty plate as he stood up.

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley, that was delicious," He said as they all followed him in standing; he found it a little irritating, for reasons he couldn't quite pin down, "Madam Pomfrey wants to give me a check up, so we'll be up stairs for a bit."

"Right you are, Harry. We're moving on to the other guest rooms this afternoon, so we'll be on the first floor." She replied, looking approving of his excuse. Ron and Ginny looked like they were about to comment, and the Twin's looked scarily speculative, but Harry fled, with dignity, before any more could be said.

Madam Pomfrey followed him out and up the stairs to the ground floor. "I will be holding you to that, Mr Potter! Honestly, those Muggles..." She grumped quietly as they left the Walburga danger zone. Harry just laughed mirthlessly, under his breath.

"Yeah. There wasn't anything to be done though... Severus brews me a potion... um..." He trailed off, awkwardly until Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him upstairs.

"That doesn't stop their treatment of you from being abuse, Harry." She said as they reached the landing. He felt like he'd been punched in the solar plexus; all the air went out of his lungs, his stomach rolled and his throat tightened. To be confronted with it like that, out of nowhere, was a curse in the dark and he could feel his magic rising, coiling around him defensively.

"Deep breaths, Mr Potter... I know you cope very well, but you mustn't bury it..." Madam Pomfrey was saying and he took a deep, shuddering breath and his magic retreated slightly.

"You should be careful, Poppy," He said in a small, unsettled voice. "My magic's not ..."

She squeezed his shoulder gently and he took another big breath, "I know, Harry. But I'm fairly sure you trust me by now, hmm?" She said with a faint hint of amusement. He laughed again, with the same mirthless tone as before, and his shoulders slumped.

"You're probably right..." he murmured, prompting her to pat him briskly on the shoulder and take a step back, brushing down her robes unnecessarily.

"Now then, Mr Potter! You go on and get Severus up; I will wait in the family room. Of you go!" She said in a no-nonsense voice. It helped, Harry found, and his magic settled back onto his conscious control.

"Right, I'll only be a minute. I think Dobby's busy getting things ready for the Order meeting, but Kreacher should be free if you want some tea." He said as he headed towards the bedroom end of the corridor. Madam Pomfrey went the other way, to the little playroom, now a sitting room, at the end. Fortunately, it wasn't very far and she had disappeared inside before it was obvious that he was delaying. With her gone, he opened the door to his room to unearth Severus.

He was awake, at least; he was sitting up in the side of the bed nearest the door, the left, with a tray next to him holding an empty bowl and a plate scattered with breadcrumbs. Harry swallowed when he saw what the man was reading; Harry's potions notes, but stepped into the room anyway.

"Hi." He said, rather lamely, closing the door behind him.

"Good afternoon, Mr Po- Harry." Severus replied, shuffling the parchment back into order and putting it down on the bed spread. Harry eyed it warily and coughed slightly, shuffling his feet rather uncharacteristically and remembering that he had bigger reasons to be apprehensive. Severus' forehead creased a little bit, "Spit it out, Harry." He said, guessing from the fidgeting that Harry had done something he wouldn't approve of; Harry's face was as readable as ever.

"Um, Madam Pomfrey... I may have let slip that you got burnt..." He said, cringing, "unintentionally, but... she's insisting on, um, checking you over,"

Severus gave a long suffering sigh and stood up to give Harry something he obviously desperately needed. The younger wizard melted into the hug the moment Severus' arms closed around him. "Bloody woman, stubborn as a mule..."

"You're no better, Sev." Harry muttered into the lapels of his rather rumpled robes. Severus blinked at the diminutive but made no comment, grunting in agreement instead. They stood like that until Severus could feel the calm settle into Harry, his heart and breathing slowing to a lethargic pace.

"Why did your magic spike, Harry?" He asked as softly as he knew how, rubbing a thumb in soothing circles over Harry's shoulder blade. The tension returned immediately, as he had thought it might and he drew him in closer,

"Can I... um, later? Please?" came the almost incoherent response as Harry curled in on himself, his head pressing against Severus' chest.

"Very well, let's get this over with." Severus stated, heaving a large sigh and nuzzling into Harry's hair for a moment before stepping back. He could see that Harry could still do with more of the same, but it would have to wait until 'later'.


	19. Chapter 19: Induction into the Order

_AN: nothing fancy, Enjoy._

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Induction into the Order

Poppy Pomfrey was brisk as ever and scolded him firmly for his 'recalcitrant behaviour' before prescribing him nothing more than bed rest. There was an odd gleam in her eye whenever she glanced between him and Harry that left him feeling decidedly unnerved and uncertain. Her reaction to _them_ was unpredictable and her face was rather shuttered. He wanted a chance to talk to Harry about handling such situations so he remained quiet and did nothing to confirm or deny any suspicions she might have. He did take a moment to marvel at the woman's ability to read minds, though, as he was sure that their interactions were not _that_ revealing.

He watched very intently when she cast diagnostics over Harry, but they revealed nothing he wasn't aware of. There was little to do about his thin bones but increase the bone density, and Severus was already working on that via the strong nutrient potion he was having Harry take. Severus' careful attention paid off in other ways, however; he was able to spot the faint tremor in Harry's hands and his compulsive swallowing as he tried to control himself. He gave up on pretence and went to comfort him instead.

Madam Pomfrey looked faintly surprised as he lowered himself next to the trembling wizard and gathered him into his arms but he missed most of her reaction as his focus shifted to what was really, truly important.

"Breathe, Harry..." He murmured into cinnamon scented hair, tucking Harry's head close against his shoulder. The short puffs of air against his throat stopped as Harry drew a deep, shaky breath and turned completely into Severus' hold.

"I'm sorry... it's just, seriously, _fuck them_!" Harry spat, growling. Severus jerked slightly at the rage in his language then shifted one arm from around his shoulders so he could grip the back of Harry's neck firmly, fingers pressing against bowstring tight tendons. Harry's shaking diminished slightly, so he kept up the pressure, rubbing against the muscles at the junction of neck and shoulder with his thumb.

"I know, Harry. I know." In some ways, Severus was glad that Harry was angry about this, for once, rather than slipping into that overly calm melancholia that he had before. The way he could sense Harry's magic rearing again was less reassuring. The feel of it was heavy and hot, like the air before a summer storm and he could feel it reaching out to him for stability, its edges soft and disparate but backed by the feeling of huge force. It was something quite precious to Severus that instead of destroying something, it was coming to him and he reached out right back, calling up his magic without giving it a spell and letting it flow around and steady the hot, stormy power coming off Harry.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Though both magic's remained invisible currents, never escalating to damage, Madam Pomfrey was no slouch at detecting such things and from her seat across the coffee table, she smiled to herself. While Molly had been right to share her suspicions, she had been wrong to doubt her own conclusions; Harry and Severus _worked_, they fitted and made each other better for it. Poppy was seeing a side of Severus that he had long had to suppress and Harry... Harry was able to be angry without descending into teenage rage.

"Thank you, Severus... I'm ok, now."

The magic's were retreating and the feeling of weight left Poppy's shoulders; both her boys looked tired, Severus physically and Harry emotionally, but somehow solid, stable; it was time for her to take her leave. She stood quietly and gathered together her nurse's satchel and short, white cape.

On her way past her boys she leant down and whispered in Severus' ear, quietly enough that Harry would not be disturbed;

"You look after him, Severus Snape, it's about time someone did." She patted his shoulder briefly and turned away and left without looking back.

She would check in on the Headmaster again before she left, she decided as she strode down the stairs, and confer briefly with Molly.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

Severus gave no indication that he had heard the Matron's comment but a nervous tension he had been aware was creeping up his spine, vanished. He would have smiled if he wasn't so unused to the gesture, reassured that at least someone understood. As he heard the door close and footsteps retreat, Harry lifted his head, with a wry and brittle smile plastered over his face. Severus studied the expression closely with the faint frown that was his permanent face and eventually gave a faint snort of amusement.

"I believe that is quite enough excitement for one day..." He remarked, pulling back and standing. The empty space that had been filled with Harry felt very empty indeed and he slid his hands into his sleeves to resist the urge to hold onto him.

Harry groaned and scrubbed his hands through his already-messy hair. "That's easy for you to say, you're still on 'leave'. _I've _got an Order meeting this evening."

Severus managed a smirk and a snigger at that, but Harry's tone was still somewhat brittle and worrying. "Quite. Pray that it is un-exciting." He said with a raised eyebrow. Harry looked up at him with a faint smile;

"Is that even a word?"

"Hyphenated, so hold your tongue." Severus returned with another smirk. Harry shook himself slightly and stood, seeming to pull himself together, so Severus turned and led the way back to Harry's room.

"Right, right. How do you make an induction into a secret society less difficult, hmm? Oh purveyor of wisdom." snarked Harry, as he followed. His comment was rewarded by a strong grip to the back of his neck, forcing him to lean forwards and squirm, "Hey, oi! Severus!" He exclaimed, his brittle mood thoroughly disbanded. To his half surprise, the grip eased and gentled into a soothing, comforting gesture as it pushed him into his room.

"Do not think you can get away with everything, simply because we are..." He trailed off, not knowing what the next word should be. That in itself was a strange and unsettling phenomenon...

Harry straightened up and tipped his head slightly so his cheek just touched Severus' hand, catching his eye with a serious look. "We are _something_. That's enough for now." He said, his eyes looking very old again. Severus still felt slightly wrong footed but that look... the understanding and steady hope generated a warm feeling in his chest that he couldn't suppress. He felt a shiver run up his spine and he used his light grip on the back of Harry's neck to pull him close enough that he could touch their temples together.

"Yes, yes it is." He murmured into the thick nest of dark hair, with his eyes closed. "You realise that Madam Pomfrey ... knows?" he asked with a little trepidation, not that it showed on his face or in his voice.

"I thought... you don't mind, right? No secrets." Harry mumbled back, gripping a handful of silken black robes in one hand and a bicep in the other.

"No secrets, Harry? No... as few as possible, perhaps, but 'none' is beyond us." The weight of spying, lies and false accusations caught up to him again and he did his best to shrug it off; the inexorable smell of cinnamon certainly helped.

"Right. I can do that." Harry said with a lop-sided smile, rubbing Severus' arm gently in support. "But I think... we should let people work it out for themselves."

Severus did not reply verbally; he simply nodded very slightly and touched his cheek to Harry's hair for a moment.

They stood like that for a long minute, absorbing comfort from each other, until finally Severus pushed the younger wizard towards his desk. "Work, Potter. You will know every Order member before this meeting, whether you like it or not."

Harry grinned wryly at him as he settled into his chair and reached for pen and parchment, "Right then... how about we start with real-Moody-who-isn't-a-lunatic-in-disguise?"

"As good a place as any; paranoid, obsessive, you are aware of his absolute status, obviously, but there are factions within the Order who believe him -"

And so, Harry began a crash course in interpersonal politics in Wizarding society. It was far from dull; Harry found himself grinning at the snarky, ruthless descriptions Severus' furnished various Order members with, and the subtle looks between people at the previous night's large dinner began to make more sense.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*

Harry smoothed down the front of his robes, nervous and jittery despite the information Severus had armed him with. He had once again dressed to his supposed station, with a conscious effort this time. The dark reddish brown robe and creamy shirt fitted well and, through the efforts of a determined house elf, his house shield was borne proudly, in miniature on enamelled silver, pinned to his collar.

He hadn't had the guts to do anything with his hair though; the resemblance to Sirius' mop was small enough that no one but Severus would notice, but now that it had been pointed out, Harry couldn't forget it. So it remained messy and wild in true Potter fashion, just touching the back of his collar.

He nervously smoothed his lapels again but this time, noticed himself doing it, quirked one corner of his mouth up and drew a deep breath to settle himself, sending a firm glare at the kitchen door.

"Come on, you can't stand on the stairs forever." He mumbled to himself and pushed the door open with confidence he hadn't been sure he could conjure.

The burble of sound was immediate; there must have been a silencing charm on the door and he gently reprimanded himself for not noticing. There was no sudden hush as people noticed him, but there was a heightened awareness of him; once someone saw him, they would turn so he was in the corner of their vision. Soon, no one had their backs to him. It was like people were expecting him to... to do something, _be_ something; one guess as to why, he grumbled to himself. The atmosphere was different to the dinners he had already encountered; a nervous energy buzzed in people's gestures and tone, while a heavy seriousness filled their expressions. He knew exactly how they felt.

Dinner had finished early that evening, as a small affair with just the Order's core and the Weasley's in attendance. Shacklebolt, Moody, Arthur and Bill had been taken aside and had met Dumbledore in the Drawing room, for a conversation that Harry had been quick to avoid. There was little doubt that the Headmaster had dodged questions about his long term health, or even lied outright and Harry doubted he could have kept the news off his face. Instead, he had gone upstairs to change and sneak a hug off Severus, which had gone a long way to bolster the confidence he was now displaying.

As he reached the head of the table, a place Dumbledore had made clear he was to keep, eyes were flicking to him and he nodded cordially back. Fred, George, Bill, Arthur, McGonagall. Tonks, Shacklebolt, other maroon-robed Aurors who's faces he did not recognise but who's names he would, people dressed for a day at the office... many people he didn't know. He smoothed away his nerves and tried to adopt a serious expression, with mixed success. At least Ron's reaction had been a good one:

"_About time, mate. After last year..."_

"_Ron, leave it..."_

"_Sorry, right. No chance of borrowing your Cloak and sitting in then?"_

The mere mention of last year's debacle had drawn his anger up from the depths, but it didn't escape and Ron's easy demeanour had been enough to put him back at ease. As if thinking about her son had summoned her, Molly Weasley bustled up to him and tutted over his robes discretely.

"Are you sure, Harry? Ginny and Ron are just upstairs, I could send up some mulled cider, a touch of the Eton Mess?" She asked in a low tone, with large, sad eyes. She had to look down at him slightly, standing that close, and it wasn't helping her to curb her motherly instinct.

"I'm sure, Molly." He said, giving her the full force of his gaze, open and expressive. "I'm nervous, but... I need to do this, to be in the loop." She was looking rather emotional and he drew himself up, "I'll manage." He quirked her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and it seemed to work; her expression firmed up and she gave him a brisk pat on the shoulder.

"You tell me if it's ever too much, you understand?" She commanded, and he had the distinct impression that she was remembering him laid up in bed, not two weeks before.

"I promise," He said, nodding and taking a deep breath. "Dumbledore shouldn't be much longer; I think he was talking to Moody..." He looked around the room, ascertaining that the grizzled old Auror was indeed still missing. Molly nodded and gave him a stressed smile before moving off to speak to her husband. Harry watched unobtrusively, while he had a moment; she seemed to get the comfort she obviously needed. He had a moment _only_, though, as McGonagall approached with a short man holding a top hat, in tow. He turned to them and introductions began; Dedalus Diggle already knew Harry, "of _course_" but Harry only had a vague recollection of him, somehow associated with the Leaky Cauldron. Elphias Doge was a large man dressed in many layers who Severus had said was a jurist for the Ministry. Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones, Harry was having great trouble keeping up.

It was a relief when Dumbledore arrived, all the chatter stopped and people moved to stand by their seats as the Headmaster swept along the room, (which was, unless Harry was very much mistaken, longer than it had been at dinner time). He beamed at Harry as he reached the head of the table and claimed the seat to its left, making no effort to hide his charred hand. Harry returned his smile with a nod.

"Good evening, everyone!" the Headmaster boomed, looking as jolly and energetic as ever; Harry turned his attention to the rest of the Order to gauge their reactions to their leaders injury. There were confused and concerned glances in equal measure, sprinkled with the occasional oblivious face. "I have an announcement to make. You, no doubt, will have realised that our own Harry Potter will be taking a greater role this year! Not only is he now the kind host of our Headquarters, but also a member of our Order."

Looking back at the Headmaster, Harry could see that the man was deadly serious. The Horcruxes immediately sprang to mind.

"I expect each and every one of you to aid Harry and answer any questions he might have." There was a smattering of nods and Dumbledore continued; "Thank you, and now, on to Business."

Harry began to sit, noticing the Headmasters subtle gesture, and everyone else followed suit. The promised Eton mess appeared on the table and Dobby began serving.

"Firstly, I believe many of you have heard of Harry's wonderful Map, by this point?" Dumbledore asked, getting nods up and down the table and some mutterings of ascent. Harry spotted Remus part way down the table, looking slightly glum;

"I am afraid to announce that plans to Map Diagon Alley have been halted, due to the difficulty of the task," Harry winced; such a map would have been so very useful. "One of the remaining Makers has determined that the Alley, with its many independent wards, is not stable enough to facilitate the necessary charm work." There were groans and looks of irritation and disappointment, but the Twin sitting next to Remus clapped him on the shoulder with a look of determination, saying something Harry couldn't make out.

"The Map itself is to be monitored, as a part of the new security on Hogwarts." Dumbledore looked sorrowful for a moment and Harry recalled the man's dislike of making the castle a fortress. "Kingsley, I believe you have progress to report?" He said, handing off to the Auror,

"Indeed; the Auror corps has improved its proficiency in the Patronus Charm by almost double, following the-"

There was much recap of issues which had been raised in recent dinners, but there was no rounding of corners now; the destruction of the Millennium Bridge was mentioned, complete with death toll. Harry steeled himself against it, but all the same, it was not easy. By that point, the sugary desert was long finished and it sat in his stomach rather unpleasantly.

Patrol rotas were reaffirmed, for Diagon, Hogsmead and Stonehenge, warders to investigate the Chamber were assigned and a date set for the expedition. The Malfoy family was mentioned and Harry listened intently as the pressure the younger Malfoy would be under became clear; he would be a dangerous presence in the school, but not one the Order was willing to give up on. It sounded risky, but Harry could see the logic; Draco Malfoy could be a valuable source of information, whether he defected in the light of his Fathers imprisonment or not. Harry was, personally, utterly certain that he specifically, would take the blame for Lucius' arrest, making any turn towards the Light Draco Malfoy might contemplate extremely unlikely. He would ask Severus, though, before writing him off completely.

Talk of Voldemort's likely next target, while intense and fraught with emotion, was largely futile without Severus, who was once again asleep, enviably, in his bed upstairs. Harry sighed and opened his mouth for the first time that meeting; sitting up straight and gathering his wits together,

"Halloween." He said, when the right moment presented itself. People seemed to have largely forgotten his presence, though McGonagall and Dumbledore did not seem surprised; in fact, the Headmaster was staring into his tea blandly and actively not interfering. "His most likely date for attack, given his losses at both the Ministry and the Battle for Number Four, the need to regroup and His personal melodrama, is Halloween."

There was an uneasy silence before smiles started cracking and mutters of 'melodrama?' started spreading. "I concur," said a growly voice that Harry recognised as belonging to Kingsley, starting a whole new round of discussion. "the first of September, while a vulnerable day, is too soon and the only other date of significance is Halloween."

It was eventually agreed upon by the majority as the most likely, to Harry's amusement. Melodrama indeed.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

"It was stupid to be nervous." Harry said as part of a string of semi-pointless babble which Severus was ignoring;

"Hmm."

"And to be entirely honest, I was disappointed that no-one asked about the Headmaster's hand. They shouldn't treat him so... omnipotently. As if he is omnipotent, even." He continued and Severus saw the gap between his eyebrows crinkled as his rather tired brain struggled with grammar.

"Mr Potter..."

"Remus looked alright, though he wasn't anywhere near me, and-"

"Harry, shut up and sit down or go to bed." Severus said finally, riding over the next string of inanities. The potions journal he had been reviewing, Makers of Morpheus, sat in his lap temptingly and he had only woken up from the evenings nap, delayed by Harry's nerves as it had been, ten or so minutes ago.

"Right, sorry Sev." The younger wizard said absently as he dumped himself on the sofa opposite. Severus had decided that the so called 'family room' on the top floor, where they had spoken with Madam Pomfrey, was ideal for a quiet evening. The fire was large and the armchair suitably comfortable. The fact that the soft, squashy sofa fitted Harry rather better than the wood-armed divan in the drawing room was merely a welcome bonus.

It was clear that Harry would sleep soon; his inane babbling was almost incoherent and once the jitters wore off he would go out like a candle. Severus watched him shift and turn on the green cushions and realised after a moment that he was _snuggling_, like a nesting bird. He snorted in amusement and picked up his journal as the shifting continued; the dissertation on nightshade as a dreaming aid was both intriguing and significant.

But... he found himself staring at Harry's back after only a couple of paragraphs; the young man had twisted over so his face was to the back of the sofa and a thin strip of pale skin was revealed between his collar and where his hair had flopped onto the cushion. Severus couldn't help his inappropriate thoughts, it looked so very smooth, but swiftly scolded himself for thinking them inappropriate to begin with; Harry had said it himself, that very morning.

With a sigh, he put the journal down and moved to sit on the thin strip of sofa behind the small of Harry's back. He carded his fingers through the thick black hair and shifted it away from Harry's neck, getting a pleased smile in return. Harry was looking up at him sideways, but not turning his head; just tilting it forwards slightly to bear the back of his neck further. Severus felt his chest warm as he ran a thumb in circles over the bumps of spine and muscles.

"You should go to bed, Harry, it has been a very long day." He said, not moving to get up and letting his hand drift up into Harry's hair.

"In a bit..." he murmured in reply, his voice muffled by the sofa.

"Hmm..." Severus was fascinated by the black mess; Harry's hair was thick and a little dry, leaving it prone to the kinks and feathered ends that made it look so windswept. It wasn't tangled, Severus ran his fingers through it and elicited another faint shift and pleased noise from Harry, but the ends were dry and brittle; so unlike Snape's own, which would tangle at the faintest hint of dryness. It had been the source of much annoyance when he was younger, the course strands only behaving when almost overly conditioned. He had soon grown out of caring about his own but he decided he rather liked the feel of Harry's hair between his fingers.

"I should brew you a hair potion..." he said half to himself, shifting a little as his perching became uncomfortable; "It will only be worse now that it is longer." He withdrew his hand and pushed himself to standing. Harry lifted his head and made sad eyes up at him, blatantly unwilling to move. "Up, Harry. You should occlude."

Those eyes fell and Harry picked himself up from his slouch, tension pulling his shoulders in and weighing his head down. "It's better than it was, Sev... not like it was back at number four..."

"But it is bad enough. I know..." He said, the hint of a sad frown on his face, "I will sit with you, come." It went a long way to easing the tension and Harry pulled himself to his feet. The wry smile on his face was returned in the faintest of movements of Severus' mouth and then Harry was leaning very close indeed. Severus found himself stooping quite automatically and his arms coming around Harry's waist as their cheeks touched and there was the faintest touch of lips just in front of his ear.

He turned his head very slightly and returned the soft touch, Harry's skin was sinfully soft, he thought with a deeply pleased shiver.

"Thank you, Severus," was whispered directly into his ear and he had to pull Harry closer, his arms gave him no choice in the matter. Tilting his head further, he kissed the line of Harry's jaw and then just the corner of his mouth.

"You are quite welcome, Harry..." He drew the name out, letting his breath ghost over Harry's skin before pulling back and turning them both towards the corridor. Harry went obediently, remaining tucked up to Severus' side, mostly inside his robes, and slipping an arm around the taller mans torso.


	20. Chapter 20: Into the Empty Dark

_AN:Hello all; To anyone in Britain who's applying for university this year, good luck! This time four years ago, I had just sent off my application to Cambridge and was twiddling my thumbs and waiting for news. Courage to you._

* * *

Chapter Twenty: Into the Empty Dark

Routine returned the next day; Harry woke early as his nightmares broke down his Occlumency shields, and he headed next door, drowsy and blinking blearily. Buckbeak was as cheerful to see him as ever and groomed his hair into a spiky, vertical mess. Harry, rather than going back to sleep, sat and brushed out the hippogriffs new feathers, thinking over the Order meeting. Hedwig joined them through Buckbeak's permanently open window and the two avians eyed each other in a hierarchy negotiation Harry couldn't begin to guess at, turning his mind to the more important Order meeting instead.

The contrast with dinners at Grimmauld place was... less extreme than he had been expecting, but there nonetheless. Talk of deaths wasn't censored; fine details that were vital for security were discussed more openly. Probably because Order members were charged with keeping their mouths shut, something they couldn't trust outsiders to do, even Ron and Ginny. And then there was the question of Occlumency, on top.

He huffed and lent against Buckbeak's flank, his heavy head was resting on his lap and each time he breathed out, hot air filled Harry's sleeve. The angle looked awkward for the hippogriff but then, Harry supposed, he did sleep with his beak under his wing. Hedwig had settled peacefully on the hippogriffs withers and was sleeping, one eye at a time.

She decided to spend the morning with him, riding about on his shoulder once he was done showering and getting dressed. It was still early so Harry took his notes downstairs to work on over breakfast, sharing his bacon with his owl. Dobby sat at the table once he was done sorting breakfast, Harry was a little proud that the elf did so without so much as asking first, and polished the silver. Kreacher popped by at one point, when Harry was going over his second animate-inanimate transfiguration, and ignored wizard, elf and owl.

Harry shook his head with a faint smile and went back to his notes, wishing Hermione was there to tell him why, exactly, it was easier to transfigure a fish into a fork than it was to change a snail into a spoon. Why you would want to do either was beyond him, to begin with.

Molly Weasley led the charge, not a minute past ten, closely followed by her two youngest. Harry grinned up at them and hastily put his notes away, wanting nothing more to do with talk of slimy spoons and swimming forks.

"'Morning you lot," He said, leaning back to put his papers on the sideboard; good riddance.

"'Mornin, 'Arry" Ron replied with his mouth already starting on the bacon. Harry just rolled his eyes, along with Ginny.

"Oh Ron, honestly. Go on, sit down and use a plate!" Mrs Weasley chided, bustling over to give Harry a half-hug, "Good morning, Harry dear. How are you?"

"Never mind that, did you hear about the Harpies yet? Complete bowl-over!" Ron interjected with great enthusiasm,

"oh come on, Ron, it wasn't _that bad_!" inserted Ginny, and Harry just smiled up at the Weasley matriarch before getting stuck in to the intricacies of the league table.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Severus made a brief appearance mid-morning, stopping only to pick up coffee, before disappearing into the lab. He _looked_ awake enough, freshly showered and as imposing as ever; looming over Ron and making his voice rise by two octaves, but Harry couldn't help but be a little concerned; it had only been two days since Dumbledore had turned up. He blinked and sighed over his own thoughts, of_ course_ Snape would want to be up, Harry got deathly bored with staying in bed if he wasn't asleep, and he was pretty sure that a man like Severus would be no different. He moved with such energy, sweeping down hallways after recalcitrant children, he paced constantly while he lectured and he even marked papers with furious speed, laying down slashes of red ink with satisfaction.

Realising the dangerous turn his thoughts had taken he shook himself and looked away from the door that had long since closed behind his professor. Ron was still occupied with food and Ginny was staring into the middle distance aimlessly but Molly Weasley was looking at him with the tiniest smile. He blushed pink and stood up, rubbing his hands together.

"Right! C'mon Ron, I want to get my old room cleared out, it's got Wheely Weevils." He announced to get everyone moving, deliberately not looking at Molly.

"What? No way! That'll take all morning!" Ron groaned, thumping his head on the table,

"Do you want your mum to agree to you staying here or what?" He asked, with a raised eyebrow, keeping his voice low so only Ron would pick up his words.

"What? Oh! Of course I do. I just... did it _have_ to be _Wheely_ weevils?" Harry laughed under his breath and headed for the cleaning cupboard.

"Oh stop _whining_, Ron, it needs to be done before Hermione gets here, at least." He heard Ginny say as he stood beside Molly with a bucket as she passed dustpan brushes and Pest Powder out to him from the back of a cupboard.

"Fine..."

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

There hadn't been much else to do but dust, once the weevils had been caught, in the room Harry and Ron had shared the year before, so they had traced the weevils back to the source and the next morning, rid the old airing cupboard of them too. It was good to be back in routine, Harry decided over the next few days, even if it was cleaning, Molly Weasley enforced family history and studying.

Severus was stopped sleeping during the day after five days and spent the day of the tenth of August holed up in his lab, working on _something_ toxic, that left an acrid smell on his robes. When Harry fetched him for dinner and stole a hug, he not only had to hold his breath briefly but he also managed to let the vapour into the kitchen, making everyone's noses wrinkle. Venting charms soon sorted it out but Harry still got disapproving glances from McGonagall and Ron, not that _he_ could be put off his food.

By that evening, news had come through the Order network that Hermione would be arriving at Grimmauld Place in four days, on the morning of the 14th. That meeting comprised largely of talk of safety precautions for the annual Diagon Alley expedition and even arguments as to whether Harry should even go. He, himself, had erred on the side of caution and suggested that Molly get him his things again, but Shacklebolt had made a good point when he said that the public needed to see him, after the reports of the Battle for Number Four. He agreed, reluctantly and eventually, to use it as a press opportunity; Severus' gift would have to remain unused for now.

The remainder of the meeting was spent settling the details of the trip to the Chamber due to take place on the 11th. Harry was dreading the Portkey, and was well aware that Severus had picked up on this fact. Maybe Dumbledore had too; it was hard to tell through the twinkling. The meeting rounded up fairly early and Harry saw the Order members through the Floo, Dumbledore included, at around nine o'clock; Molly Weasley vanished up stairs, chasing the pink threads of Extendable Ears.

The portkey sat innocuously in the middle of the table as Harry flopped back down into his chair at the head and glared at it. The strip of terry cloth managed to look astonishingly inoffensive, which made him glare harder as he crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on them.

"You have to get over it eventually, Potter." Snape drawled unsympathetically.

Harry just shot him a glare, but was somewhat appeased by the more empathetic look that just showed around Severus' eyes. He heaved a sigh and slouched back in his chair sullenly; "I just don't see why we can't Floo, you pointed out all those fireplaces just the other day, any one of them would do!"

"And risk having it known that you where at the school? Now, the Order members could get away with it, just, if they were contracted for Ward work but then it would be a matter of public record, and we have no excuse for you." Harry shut his eyes and frowned, irritated that Severus couldn't just let him whine, a little. When a warm, long fingered hand started carding through his hair, though, he soon forgot his ire.

"It's not going to bring back any good memories; Cedric _and _the Dursley's, now..." he said, leaning his head into Severus' hand, "What if I can't... I might need to occlude, or something, I..." He trailed off, frustrated and unable to find the words.

"Calm, Harry, I will be close by. If you need to occlude, then you will need to occlude and I will retrieve you." The voice got closer and Severus' hand slipped to the back of his head, tipping it and lifting his face. Harry just cracked an eyelid and revelled in the soft kiss, full of warmth and comfort.

"Thank you," He whispered, opening his eyes properly and hoping they conveyed the intensity of his feeling to Severus. Black eyes crinkled with amusement, though it barely showed, and Harry was rewarded with a second, firmer kiss.

He didn't know whether it was deliberate or not, though after the looks they had been getting, it wouldn't be a surprise if it was, but Molly made enough noise as she returned from fetching her two youngest to alert them and give them time to pull away and arrange themselves at the table.

Harry regretted the fact that Ron and Ginny couldn't know yet, but that was how it had to be. He wasn't eager for their reactiong, it had to be said, but he agreed with Severus; the secrecy grated. He had strong suspicions that Molly knew about them, and he was certain now that Dumbledore and Poppy Pomfrey did. He was... honoured, when he stopped to think about it, that they trusted him to be in an adult relationship; it would have been so easy for the elders in his life to react badly to Severus and his closeness, thinking that the older man would be able to take advantage of Harry's... of Harry. Instead they were letting it slide, though he was sure that Dumbledore was watching closely when he could.

Things would most likely change when they returned to school; Severus would be forced back into the 'cantankerous git' behaviour they were all familiar with and Harry would have to be careful to appear not to know what to make of him, at the least. Harry knew, without doubt, that Dumbledore would throw them back into Occlumency lessons, for all the good it would do while Harry was as... messed up as he was. He was fairly sure that the Occlumency he was doing in the evenings was a far cry from what Dumbledore had in mind.

He half smiled at the three Weasleys as they bumbled in and sat down and he tried to leave his more serious thoughts behind.

"Hey, how's it going?" He asked, shuffling his bum back on his seat to sit up properly. Severus was pouring from the ever present teapot and Harry shifted an empty cup to next to his hand; the potions master took the hint and poured Harry a cup.

"'Evening. 's all right, we just wondered about the house. Not much cleaning left, doncha know." Ron said, looking chipper and waggling his eyebrows pointedly at Harry, and reminding him of something they had mentioned a few days previously;

"About that... there's enough rooms for you to come stay, now, Mrs Weasley... I mean, if you want to. It'd make me feel better about your safety," He cut himself off and the amused vide he was getting off the little crinkles around Severus' eyes told him that he was babbling.

"Oh, Harry, that's very kind but..." Molly started,

"Oh Mum! Come on, we've lived in the Burrow for_ever_; a few weeks won't make any difference! We stayed last year!" Ginny whined, using a tone of voice that Harry suspected was unique to daughters and girlfriends.

"Now, Ginny, we mustn't impose! Kreacher and Dobby have enough work without us being here over night as well, and you are here all day regardless!" Mrs Weasley chided huffily, making busy-work for her hands by wiping at the table.

"But Harry's all on his own over night! What about nightmares and-"

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed, flushing red and frowning, "I'm not that bad, and Snape's here anyway,"

Mrs Weasley's "_Professor_ Snape, Harry" went unnoticed and ignored as Ron and Ginny went on; Severus didn't seem insulted in any case, he just sat and watched the exchange, sipping his tea. Harry could see the Matriarch weakening under the pleading looks of her children, not to mention beginning to get irritated, and he decided it was time to step in.

"Mrs Weasley, please? Arthur'll be closer to the Ministry, you'll all be under the Fidelus, _and_ it's no trouble, honest! And Hermione'll be here soon, and you wouldn't want her on her own in a house with just me and Professor Snape, would you?" He put on his best beseeching face, making Severus snort quietly into his cup, and he could _see_ the woman starting to fold. "I might even be able to put the Twins up, I know you don't like them living on their own in Diagon."

It would seem that was the final straw and Mrs Weasley put up her hands and bustled over to the sink to wash up, loudly; "If you're sure, Harry! But I'll be doing the laundry, you hear? Honestly, going from two to eight... Dobby!"

Harry exchanged conspiratorial grins with his friends while Severus set down his tea and commented dryly: "Congratulations, a particularly fine example of wheedling. Ten points to Slytherin."

The uproar that ensued was well worth it and Harry felt better than ever; he would have his family all under one roof. The portkey on the table sat forgotten for now.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Severus was unsurprised to be woken early the next morning by a pair of cold feet and a warm body; the promise of a portkey and memories of the Chamber itself had been sure to bring up an unpleasant slew of nightmares. He was ... pleased that Harry had come to him, rather than retreating to Buckbeak's nest. The cold feet stealing his warmth, however, he was not impressed by, nor the clammy, overly warm state of Harry's skin. He murmured a freshening charm as he came more fully awake and the tense breathing next to him shuddered and smoothed in gratitude. A brief shift and Severus had Harry held tight against his chest, a hand tangled in that shoulder-length nest he called hair.

They remained long enough for Harry to be calm and... whole, somehow, before parting again with wordless endearments, to their respective bathrooms. Severus appreciated that quiet, in the morning, particularly before he had had either tea or a shower.

Breakfast was similarly quiet, though Dobby muttered and squeaked his excited way through serving them, much to Severus' irritation. His gaze strayed to Harry an inordinate number of times; without the restraining presence of any Weasleys, Severus could watch his... what? He refused to ascribe some asinine label to their relationship but it now seemed wildly inappropriate to call Harry his student, even in his own mind. Or perhaps _especially _in his own mind...

Harry was picking at his food in a rather desultory manner, casting his own inordinate number of glances at the bath-robe-belt-turned-port-key coiled on the far end of the table, set to go off at ten o'clock. Severus' brow mirrored the concerned frown on Harry's and he reached over to grip the back of Harry's neck firmly and pull him towards himself slightly. The frown melted away as Harry's eyes fell shut and his head tipped forwards; Severus' thumb rubbed away the tension in the little dip between neck and skull.

"Right... yes of course..." Harry mumbled, his shoulders going slack and his hands abandoning the cutlery on the table.

"Indeed." Severus muttered in an equally quiet and soft voice, though without the thickness and mumbling Harry employed. "Come, up." He said, drawing Harry up and letting his robes fall about them and cocoon Harry in safety. The deep, shuddering breath against his sternum was well worth it as Harry let go of the last of his tension. Harry's pale face canted up to him after a moment, bearing a wry grin that Severus returned with a lopsided smirk before he could help himself, "Foolish Gryffindor. " He muttered as he leaned down and wiped that grin off his face with a comforting kiss.

Harry was in no way shy about returning the affection, arching his back where Severus' hand pressed into the small of it and sighing gustily when they pulled back.

"People will be arriving soon, I should fetch my cloak..." Harry said, obviously unwilling to leave the circle of Severus' arms, nor was _he_ eager to let Harry go, but the room would indeed begin accumulating Order members soon enough.

"Very well," Severus growled with a final possessive squeeze before pulling back, as it was clear Harry would not do so himself.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Bill and Charlie Weasley, Fleur Delacour, Tonks, the Twins, Mundungus Fletcher. Remus Lupin.

Severus glared consistently at all of them, barring Lupin, for whom he had a touch of extra vitriol. Whenever he looked back at Harry, however, who was greeting, talking and being... comradely, his expression was forcibly softened by overly-messy black hair, enchanting green eyes and the memory of plush lips against his own. He felt decidedly smug, self satisfied, as the little ball of warmth these things generated settled firmly in his chest, tying him closely to Harry. Speaking of whom... The glare Harry occasionally sent 'Dung was glorious; he still harboured resentment for the hole in security that had let the Dementors get at him the year before.

The last to arrive was Kingsley Shacklebolt and Severus emerged from his quiet corner, with his large potions case shrunken as much as was possible and stashed in a satchel, and stood, sentinel-like, near Harry, and hence the portkey. His looming went uncommented on; presumably they thought he was attempting to intimidate _everyone_, including the young man beside and just in front of him. They would be wrong, but he couldn't care less; the people who mattered would notice and those who didn't, wouldn't. He was certain Albus was aware of their arrangement; he would have to seek the old man's council soon, as the school year drew closer.

"Right, you lot! Port in thirty!" Shacklebolt called out as he finished talking to Harry; pleasantries that Severus' hadn't bothered even half an ear to listen to. There was shuffling and jostling as the belt was stretched out between Shacklebolt and Tonks and people crowded around to take hold. Harry was firmly sandwiched between Severus' side and Bill Weasleys solid bulk, with Charlie opposite him. Grips on the terry cloth flexed and tightened as the Aurors counted down and checked that everyone was firmly attached. Just as the portkey was due to go off, Severus slipped his free arm tightly around Harry's waist and gripped as the tug whisked them away into a swirly of hypnotic colour.

Harry's chest fluttered against his arm and the short panting breaths were audible, even in the bare three, perhaps four seconds between leaving Grimmauld Place and arriving in the second floor bathroom. The tiled floor leaped up at them as the colours stripped away and Severus braced, knees slightly bent, for the impact. Harry was still tense in all the wrong ways and Severus prepared himself to take his weight, too. His feet slammed unceremoniously into the floor and Harry crumpled next to him. Bill Weasley was obviously expecting something of the sort, also, and between the pair of them, Harry remained upright.

Regardless of the rest of the group, Severus pulled Harry's face towards him and scanned his eyes for panic, or that blankness he had seen after the Battle for Number Four. He found a shuddering, shivering pain instead and his grip on Harry's shoulder tightened. He looked rather... helpless, for a moment, until he shut his eyes and Severus felt his shoulder rise and fall with the deep breath he took. With a brief nod of thanks and a quick squeeze of Severus' hand, he turned back to the rest of the group.

"P-Professor?" The eldest Weasley asked, looking more than a little surprised. Severus fought off the insufferably smug, possessive expression that threatened to cover his face and simply nodded calmly.

"He will be fine, Mr Weasley." He said, fully aware that that had not been the main thrust of Bill's question, but unwilling to reveal himself so easily; let him see, instead. If the man was clever enough to work it out, then so be it; he was capable of Occlumency.

He turned to watch Harry as he spoke loudly and clearly to the group, preparing them for the trip through Hogwarts' pipes. Mention of the Basilisk, so calmly described in its sixty foot, fearsome glory, made Severus' skin crawl. Such a farce that had been; two children, a potentially deadly mistake and an incompetent Defence teacher...

So easily, he could have lost so much.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

The way grown Order members _listened_ when he spoke, truly paid attention, was unnerving. The year before, he had been dismissed to his room for meetings, considered a child and his words had been met with proverbial pats on the head, but now... He stood with his back straight and head up, as he explained the lay out and position of both the Basilisk's shed skin and corpse. He could only hope that no one fired curses as the large coils came into view.

"I sincerely recommend using an Impervious charm on your robes; this _will_ be mucky." Aurors were nodding and begun casting immediately, "Additionally, it will be _dark_. The pipe goes deep, presumably to get beneath the dungeons; there are no windows, no torches and no candles." He turned to the Twins, who were rummaging in the bag they had brought, pieces of potions harvesting equipment and various products appearing and disappearing again.

"Fred, George, you will be coming second; I will wait at the bottom of the drop with my wand lit, get ready to land when you see it. I want you to start lighting up immediately, it'll take time to clear the rock fall and the sooner we get this done, the better." The two identical red-heads grinned identical grins and waved what looked like muggle sports bottles at him, making him grin right back.

He cast his eyes over the group while Shacklebolt finished the briefing, looking into each face, bar Severus'; the man was standing behind him, his magic a solid, comforting weight. It was that sensation, more than anything else that had grounded him as his mind flickered through images of Cedric and even of Krum's clouded, Imperius'ed gaze. Anger at Wormtail, at Crouch, had bubbled briefly; infusing his horror with a curt depth, but Severus' piercing gaze, velveteen magic and unflinching touch had brought him back from the edge. Bill Weasley's half heard comment had lifted his mood as he had stepped away to leave Severus to deal with that as he wished; Harry had no desire to be secret, and Severus could judge best who could know and who could not.

As Impervious charms were cast, Harry went to the second sink from the end, the only dry one as the taps had never worked, and rubbed at the slimy dust to uncover the tiny etched serpent and its emerald eye. As he stared at it, waiting for the faint writhe that would make the lines look alive, he felt Severus' magic wash over him and settle in his clothes. He glanced at the man in quiet gratitude; though he could use magic here at Hogwarts, having a piece of Severus' magic wrapped around him was decidedly delicious. Severus gave no indication beyond the faintest look in his eye that he had done anything at all, but Harry was not fooled and turned back to the snake.

There.

"_Open."_ There were stilled breaths and even faint shudders as the long, sibilant hiss fell from his mouth, taken and amplified into a wordless hissing grind as the sink began to turn and then spin down into the black, impenetrable gloom.

Harry stepped off the edge, much to the worry, shock and various other exclamations of the Order members arrayed, watching in fascination behind him. He heard hurried footsteps as the tunnel whisked him away but soon he was out of range, plunging deep, the tunnel twisting and turning to avoid rooms and corridors and then flying straight, at a steep angle, through the bedrock. The moment he left the wards left him feeling slightly cold, not something he had truly picked up on last time. He kept his elbows tucked in and his shoulders up to protect his head and then he was briefly airborne with a bare half second to prepare before he was skidding through the debris of a thousand years of small animal kills.

"Lumos."

He gave himself a grinning minute to lie there and pant at the exhilaration of the wild ride before pulling himself to his feet and shaking bits of bone out of his robes and cloak. The charm had done its job and his clothes were slime free, though his own skin hadn't been quite as resistant. He wiped his hands on his trousers ineffectually, and gave a long, loud whistle up the pipe. Immediately, screams and whooping began as the Twins came barrelling down, apparently together. He stood to the side of the pipe, flicking his lit wand to lay a cushioning charm for those who were not quite as prepared as he had been, and listened to the Twins. They had given over the screaming to a loud analysis of the relative merits of twists and turns against sudden drops;

"Well, I _say_, this bit is rather boring, wholly too straight..."

"Ah, Gred; I do believe I see the light at the end of the tunnel!"

"Don't go towards the Light, Brother!"

Harry just snorted in amusement and wiggled his wand tip in front of the tunnel mouth. The pair shot out with considerable speed and skidded along the patch of cushioned floor until they came to rest in a tangle of ginger hair, freckly limbs and satchels. Harry could already hear the hiss of the next person coming;

"Go on, up you get. Unless you want Professor Snape to land on you." He said, very sure that Severus would not be remotely pleased with him for the abruptness of his departure. The pair gave him large grins and leaped up, scampering away and pulling the muggle sports bottles out of their bags. In the dark of the underground, the glow the bottles were producing was quite obvious and when they started filling rocks transfigured into bowls with it, the greenish yellow light intensified to light the tunnel well.

When Severus arrived, a bare half minute after the Twins, his face was priceless; a combination of the indignity of the travel type, furious concern and exhilaration at the wild ride. He managed to gain his feet in under a second as was soon stalking over to Harry and pulling him into a very brief, very tight and somewhat breathless hug.

"Impertinent, foolish, utterly rash, inconsiderate _brat_." He growled right into Harry's ear, pulling away quickly and stalking away down the tunnel furiously. The Twins said nothing out loud, but the looks they shared were not insignificant. Harry sighed and let himself smile, giving them a quirky, devilish smile.

"Bloody _hell_, Harry..." They said in concert.

"Yes, yes, quite, indeed, now can we kindly _move on_?" Severus barked from the edge of the light, jabbing his wand at rocks viciously and generating more light-bearing sconces for the twins to fill.

Move on they did, lighting up the entire corridor and showing just how _small_ the hole in the rock fall had been. How he and Ginny had squeezed through that gap was beyond him. By the time all eleven members of the group had arrived, Severus was blasting, transfiguring and out-right melting his way through the obstruction. Harry surreptitiously basked in the rolling magic he was giving off as he picked his way over small bones and skulls. He was curious as to what was so interesting to Remus amongst the remains.

Bill and Charlie both joined in the rather..._enthusiastic_ removal of the rock fall and between the three of them, it was clear and stable in under quarter of an hour. There wasn't enough room for more people to help, so Shacklebolt had people probing the wards, a list of protections in hand;

"Anti-Apparition?"

"Um... no."

"Portkey?"

"Restricted, we might be too deep, if there's some feldspar around."

"Fentman's 1456?"

"Nope,"

And so on, as he read down the list and someone checked each ward, often with a brightly coloured stream of sparks. Some wards responded, apparently, as certain sparks elicited rippling glows in the walls, while others fizzled and died sadly.

Once the tunnel was clear and cool enough, the rock melted into a hard, strong arch where it had previously cracked and supported by transfigured pillars, they advanced, the Twins lighting the way with their yellow-green potion. The big, snake engraved door soon came into view; the distance was shorter than he remembered it... perhaps his legs were just that much longer. He left his questioning of Remus about the wards behind and stepped up to the enormous edifice of stone and iron, staring with eerie intensity at the metal snakes that had their fangs embedded in the stone and their bodies entwined over the split in the doors. The rippling, liquid, potion light glinted off the deeply set emerald eyes and it was all he needed to see them as alive;

"_Open._" He hissed, the sound not generating as many uncomfortable expressions as it had before. The thick, iron snakes withdrew their fangs from the stone and retreated, unwinding long bodies and retreating to their respective door and allowing the enchanted stone to swing inwards. There were mutterings and nervous twitches as the snakes took up guard positions, watching, but Harry started forwards; he could see the life leaving the metal already, and they followed.

Severus' brisk stride was full of energy and he pulled ahead after a moment, his robes fluttering. Harry caught a glimpse of the glint in his eye and smirked; Severus was determined that a Slytherin would be the first to see their Founder's Chamber, this time round. Harry followed at a less rushed march, Remus coming up alongside again;

"There's definitely a way in from the forest then?" He asked. The werewolf nodded, fingering his chin.

"I'm sure. There's no way all of those creatures came in through the drains. The rats perhaps, but the chiropteran skull I found means there is a full tunnel." He said,

"Chiro...? pardon?" Harry said, amused and curious as Remus' Professor showed through.

"Oh! Bats. I found a bat skull." Harry was reminded of the large skeleton hanging in the DA classroom and nodded thoughtfully.

"So either the Basilisk could get to the Forest, or there's a big way in, big enough to fly through." He mused, eyes on Severus' back as he got neared to the old, shed Basilisk skin and skirted around it. "To be honest, I don't think it could get out; there are still spiders in the forest and they _hate_ Basilisks, absolutely terrified of them."

"Exactly. Your story of how the spiders left Hogwarts, heading to the Forest, confirms it." Remus finished; his expression still serious, obviously not feeling wholly at ease. Harry was still unaware of the confrontation between Remus and Severus, but it was in the forefront of Remus' mind; he could not remain absorbed in his own head, despite the hole left there by Sirius' death. Harry decided not to pursue Remus' unease, nodding and thanking his old professor before turning to Shacklebolt to pass on the information; the man had been in conversation with Bill about the Warding to come.


	21. Chapter 21: Snakes and Potions

_AN: __approaching the end of the already-written summer of fifth year, we shall see how updates go from here. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty One: Snakes and Potions

Severus Snape's reaction to the sheer enormity of the Basilisk's carcass will never be mentioned. Nor was it seen by anyone in the Warding party but one, rather singular, young man, whose unique talent for perceiving Severus Snape's emotions far outstripped any other. The utter stillness of his limbs, the faintly too wide cant of his eyes and the just visible, jerky movements of his chest were beyond his control as he stared at the two-years-dead corpse who's fangs stood proud of bloody jaws in ivory curves a foot long. The sharp, ridged scales over ruined eyes extended the length of the hideously thick, strong body in a long, serrated blade. Severus could not truly gauge the length of the beast, but the afore-mentioned sixty feet had not been exaggerated.

_And this is the beast I come to harvest? _He stepped warily around the head, the shocked, horrified stillness giving way to a jumble he could not translate into words; images of Harry as he had been in the Headmaster's office, of the scar on his arm, flashed ruthlessly past his eyes as he saw the broken fang, lying not far from the beast's head. It was blackened with something and he was forced to occlude, to control himself more tightly, as he realised that it was a mixture of blood, _Harry's blood,_ and ink.

The warding party was spreading out over the room, muttering and throwing glances at the corpse but Severus could ignore them. Harry, on the other hand, he could not; the warm, steady presence next to him helped him draw the shutters over those memories.

"Looks smaller, now..." Harry mumbled; Severus nearly choked on something hot and cloying filing his chest while his face went stony and furious. The resulting string of expletives had the Twins taking notes, actual _written_ notes. Harry's hand found its way onto his arm and gave his bicep a comforting squeeze, saying nothing but looking darkly amused. He shook the hand off, unwilling to admit how much it had helped, and whipped his wand out. It slashed through the air satisfyingly as he conjured a table and then proceeded to enlarge his case and retrieve spelled tarpaulins and jars, which landed with heavy thunks on the wood.

"Right, better get on then, Forge. Gloves?"

Right you are, Gred. Apron?"

He saw Harry shudder out of the corner of his eye as he watched them kit up with the elbow length gloves, obscenely long harvesting knives and thick, blood-proof aprons. This would not be a pretty, nor clean, process; _serve the bloody creature right, _thought Severus as he took a skinning hook from the roll of tools he had spread out on the bench. The curved blade was sharpened with the flick of his wand and he proceeded to strip off his robes and roll his sleeves up past his elbows; the world knew he had the mark, sensibilities be damned! He viciously dug the tip into the skin at the corner of the beasts mouth, the sharp, inner curve facing the tough hide and the blunt outer curve facing the softer inner flesh to avoid cutting open anything unsavoury.

Tugging to make sure the tool was properly placed, he adjusted his two handed grip on the large, wooden handle and began to _pull_, a vicious look on his face as he split the animal's cheek open. There was, in fact, very little blood, but as he got further from the venom glands, the flesh had begun to rot and the smell was... less than pleasant.

He saw Harry beat a hasty retreat to join the warders and snorted at the greenish tinge on his Weasley assistants;

"On, you snivelling excuses for adults! You, extract the fangs, the other one cut the muscles of the jaw." He growled with effort as he guided the knife along the boundary between small flank scales and the large, sharp skutes of the back before snarling again, when they still hadn't moved; "Now!"

They leapt into action, trained by six and a half years of Severus' teaching voice. Satisfied, Severus leaned into his task, working out the bubbling snarl in his chest through sheer physical exertion.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Harry watched the warding with sincere fascination; the coloured sparks he had seen earlier, while they were testing the wards had _nothing_ on this. Great arcs of coloured light flowed from wands and onto the stone walls, reaching, flowing and spreading over the surface, sparks flew where different colours met, resisted and merged with each other. With each rippling wave, Harry felt safer, more at home as the new wards felt more and more like Hogwarts. The melodious, deep voices chanting the incantations echoed and reverberated through the tunnels and pools of the far reaches of the Chamber, over laid by Tonks' finer, faster chant;

"_Ut sapiens, aptarit idonea bello_. _Ut sapiens,-_"

She was facing the entrance and beckoning something, with flicks and broad sweeps of her wand. As Harry watched, the tunnel's mouth began to spill light onto the wet floor, gold, reds, flickers of vibrant green and blue, rising in intensity until the edges of Hogwarts' wards were pulled, stretching and bulging into the Chamber. Over laying her voice like the rumble of distant thunder was Dumbledore's, resonating through the wards all the way from their heart, in the Headmaster's Office.

The colours covering the walls were beginning to strain, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Fleur and the Weasleys all coming together to draw them towards Hogwarts' existing wards. They looked worn, tired and slightly sweaty but both determined and focused. As holder of the wards at Grimmauld, Harry empathised with the concentration it took and stayed well out of the way. Remus was pacing the edges of the Chamber, casting anti-Animagus charms over each tunnel mouth, the threads of blue left connected to his wand collecting in his left hand. Soon, he too was approaching the bulging, groaning surface that Tonks had a firm hold on and then, together, in a spray of sparks they connected their new creations to the existing light. With an almighty heave, the new wards slammed into place and the light sank into the walls.

A cool breeze he hadn't even been aware of ceased and the quiet in the aftermath of chanting rang with faint echoes. The moment was broken by a long, wet ripping noise as Severus finished dissecting off the Basilisks five foot long, three foot wide lower jaw; the warding party cringed, as did the Twins.

Harry himself shuddered at the heavy crunch of de-fanged bone on wet stone and a quick glance at Severus' face confirmed that the man was still working out some tension, with a vicious kind of satisfaction. _This_ was the Severus Snape he remembered from school but Harry found himself still attracted to that ferocity, provided it was directed in a ... positive way.

"We're done here, Harry. We'll all pitch in to get the rest of the hide off and then it'll be back up above ground and to Headquarters." commented Remus, patting Harry on the shoulder on his way past and conjuring gloves and apron.

"Oh! Right, yeah. Well done, everyone. I have tea and chocolate if anyone needs it." He called out, fumbling for the shrunken flask and box of Honeydukes finest. Tonks appeared quick enough and he grinned at her as he handed over the chocolate she was coveting with long glances. Her boss followed soon after.

"Thanks, mate; Remus has me hooked on this stuff." She muttered through her mouthful, the hand concealing her lower face her only concession to manners.

"Dobby's idea; thank him." Harry replied with a smile, pouring tea into the mug Kingsley had conjured. "That looked like hard work, aren't you tired?" He asked the group in general. Charlie and Bill had already headed to the Basilisk with looks of fascination; Harry wondered how long they had been resisting the urge to investigate, but Fleur and 'Dung were also conjuring tea cups or mugs, respectively. He could understand the quarter-Veela's reluctance; it was a messy job.

"Zee varding can take much out of one, zee _chocolat_ is velcome." Fleur said, gracing him with her radiant smile. Its effects were ... interesting, particularly when 'Dung began to salivate and spilled tea over his hand. Harry didn't feel them much himself, but then his relationship with Severus probably explained that well enough.

_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_*_XX_

Severus leaned over the now-overturned and jawless head, with a large scalpel to extract the second venom gland in hand. The flesh was tough where the poison had warded off decay and he had to take great care to apply just enough force to cut the ligaments of the palate without piercing the gland and causing the venom to spill. With the fangs removed, it was easy enough to track the venom ducts back, at least, and have a good idea where the gland would be.

Delicate work, indeed.

He had banished the Twins to stripping off the hide he had cut and it was noticeable when their brothers joined in; the unpleasant sound effects grew more frequent and lengthy until finally the hide was free of the muscle. The large, magic resistant sheet would take significant processing but Severus was certain it would be of equally significant value in up-coming battles.

He grunted as, poison gland now held gingerly in a square of dragon hide, he cut the last toughened suspensor. He sealed of the venom duct with his wand and a sticking charm before wrapping it up carefully and placing it next to its opposite twin.

His once clear bench was now covered in jars and wrapped and sealed packages; teeth and fangs glinted menacingly, the sharp, bony scales of the back filled a small chest and had proven as hard as the tools he had tried to pry them off with. Long strips of liver floated in preserver, as did the gall bladder and absurdly large spleen; the already overly large jars had had to be further enlarged to hold them.

Severus straightened and threw his contaminated gloves to the bench, arching backwards to stretch his spine. How Harry could put up with the age difference, he didn't know and he had found himself grumbling over Harry's ability to sleep in strange positions without seizing up a number of times over the last week; on sofas, hippogriffs, even Severus himself.

Speaking of the brat... a cup of hot tea was held out in his peripheral vision and he took the transfigured mug greedily. His glance at Harry's expression showed a combination of amusement and disgust at the state of Severus' apron.

"The warding went well?" he asked, mug poised for a sip and a singular eyebrow raised.

"Yeah. Only the very oldest wards reached down this far. There was quite a lot to cast." Harry was screwing the lid back on his bottomless flask as he spoke, "They got through it all in the end though. You nearly done?"

Severus caught Harry's glance at the carcass and sighed, "Indeed, feel glad you have avoided this particular task."

"Well, yeah, it looks pretty disgusting, but I feel bad just _watching_." Severus quieted him with a Snape glare and Harry's expression turned sheepish. "Fine, fine, I concede; even I'm not that noble..."

Severus eyed him in mock distrust for a moment before returning to his tea. "We are, in effect, finished in any case. The rot has contaminated what is left."

Understandably, Harry grimaced; the rot in question had spread forwards from the creatures vent, reaching perhaps half the great serpents length. The harvesting had carefully avoided the oozing, suppurating flesh and gone only for the parts protected by the creature's venom and impervious hide.

"We should burn the remainder down to the bones." Severus said, turning away from the sight of all that Weasley hair clashing violently with the Slytherin green of the lights. A quiet 'hmm' sounded from his right as Harry watched in morbid fascination as the second and last piece of hide came free with another great ripping sound.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley; that was exactly what we needed." Harry remarked with a smile as he sat back in his chair and rested one hand over his stomach. The table was very much dominated by the red-headed clan, with only Percy missing. Remus and Tonks were the only ones left of the Warding party. Severus was to his left again, and Arthur on his right, but the hierarchy had otherwise broken down and Ron was next to his dad, and Remus with Tonks and the twins at the far end. The table was littered with the remnants of a thick stew and the accompanying fresh bread, which they had ploughed through quickly. With Hermione arriving in a few days and the Weasley's properly moved in, Harry was content. He did... there were moments when he would find himself choking on the empty space at the foot of the table, or the dog hair that refused to come out of the drawing room sofa, but it was not so explosive any more, not so prone to flinging him into something uncontrollable.

He looked over at his Professor and felt that bit of peace come back, how Sirius would have raged, but by _Merlin,_ it was a beautiful thing. Mutual understanding, comfort, and trust; they had fallen into it so... casually, accidentally, that Harry still found himself surprised at their camaraderie and closeness. Severus' eyes were focused off in the middle distance; it wasn't easy to guess what he was thinking about, but Harry suspected it had to do with the plethora of rare potions ingredients they had just acquired.

It had taken the twins almost an hour to reappear from the bathroom after the mess of the Chamber and even Harry had wanted a shower. Severus had similarly vanished into his room, and remained there until dinner had appeared. Harry had enjoyed the familiarity of being trounced by Ron at chess, by the fire in the Library while his hair dried in ragged spikes and curls; he been both surprised and amused when he'd found a potion labelled 'shampoo' in Severus' distinctive handwriting on his chest of drawers. It was nice, smelled of cinnamon still, but smoother and easier to use than soap. It hadn't made any difference to the kinks and curls that his hair insisted on producing when it dried, though.

Severus hadn't noticed yet, and Harry was sure he _would_, eventually, and he could already imagine the tiny tic of an eyelid that would betray the man's frustration.

"It's no problem, dear. Just a bit of stew." Mrs Weasley said as she bustled around the kitchen to some purpose that Harry couldn't identify. He sent her a happy grin and wrapped his hands around his mulled cider. His mind drifted to his evening studies as he stared down at the steam rising from his mug; the swirling mist dissipated just above the rim of the ceramic, as intangible as the trance he had been trying to achieve. A letter to McGonagall hadn't helped, she had just told him to keep trying, and Severus was equally useless; he had never wanted to become an Animagus. Sirius' notes were... He took a deep breath and hoped no one would notice the sudden tension in his knuckles. Sirius's notes weren't as helpful as they could have been.

Each evening, before occluding, he would try and try to slip sideways and leave concious thought behind, to ride the currents of his simple, animal mind; that basic, central part of humanity that was a relic of times long past. It was inevitably too much and each time some feeling or memory would rear its ugly head and he would retreat down into Occlumency and sleep.

It was so rare that he slept without Occlumency now, since the first round of dreams would inevitably wake him up. He was left with two options; occlude again and risk being unable to sleep, or get up. Buckbeak helped, admittedly. As did Severus, though the man was adamant that Harry remain in his own bed for the most part. He did understand this, logically, but all the same, Harry would have liked to sleep next to that warmth and solidity more often. But... that ran the risk of sleeping on without Occluding, and hence risking both Severus' life and the hunt for the Horcruxes. Perhaps the man's propriety would serve a greater purpose after all.

Harry took a sip of his hot cider to chase away a bit of the horrifying chill that thought had brought, letting his mind wander to other thoughts.

"Professor, who, legally, is my guardian?" He asked absently; as the Dursley's had thrown him out and the action had been recognised magically, it was possible that he was actually free of them.

Severus took a drink of his coffee before answering, "Your flamboyant retreat from Privet Drive was accompanied by the Dursley's disappearance; I do not believe any one has noticed their rejection of guardianship yet. This may persist the year, leaving you free as an adult." He said, looking blank, as though he was thinking about something quite apart from Harry's question.

"So, if someone looks, I don't have a guardian?" Harry confirmed, leaning in slightly as an idea occurred; one of those many-birds-with-one-stone type ideas.

"Quite. There are charms on the records of a minor that prevent the casual observer gaining sensitive details, however. There is little risk of a court case." Severus said, perking up slightly at the look on Harry's face; one he was unfortunately familiar with, recognising it from the moment before a cauldron had exploded in Harry's second year. "What exactly is your purpose in such enquiries, Potter?"

Harry frowned slightly, making it clear that he was quite serious in this mischief; "Sirius would have been legally obliged to take up the role of my Guardian, if we had proved him innocent," Harry crushed his grief mercilessly, just to hold it back long enough to get his point across. "But, since he was a wanted convict, wouldn't it be the place of Narcissa Malfoy, _née_ Black to take up that role?"

Severus' eyes darkened in anger and alarm, his face going stony, "What are you suggesting, Potter?" He snarled. Harry winced slightly at the second use of his last name in as many sentences;

"What I'm getting at is that _if_ I manage to be emancipated in secret, and I'm pretty sure I won't need a hearing to convince the WCS, then _you_ could report to the mighty Lord Moldy Shorts that Narcissa has a claim on me." Harry said in a rush, hoping to bush Severus' bad mood to the wayside, "You get something interesting to report, we tie up the Malfoy resources in the courts, and when the plan fails a few months down the line, Bellatrix takes the flack."

Severus sat back thoughtfully, ignoring the cries of indignation from down the table as the twins sprung a shape-changing prank on Ron. Harry stood to let him mull it over, knowing that Severus would see the how's and why's, as well as the flaws. He simply hoped that they could make use of something he was planning on doing anyway. If it remained secret. One could hope, he thought as he slid into a seat opposite Ron's chair, which currently held an angrily bawling seal pup.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

The ground was... a long way away, for being closer than he usually observed it from. How weird. His feet absolutely refused to hold him up and his _knees_, well... he didn't even know where they had _gone_! There were feathers, lots of feathers...

He gave an ungainly squawk as long hands wrapped around his body and he flailed helplessly in an attempt to get his balance. Soon, his arms (no, that's not quite right...) were pinned against his body in a way that was strangely comfortable and he let his legs hang limply. His now-beady eyes followed the red-headed devils responsible for his current predicament, his head snaking on a long neck with an uncanny ability to keep stationary despite being hefted and tucked into voluminous black robes. He squawked again, snapping a pleasingly sharp beak at a freckly hand that ventured too close, and kicked his absurdly long legs at the offending individual.

After a long glare, he gave a final disdainful squawk and buried his head in Severus' robes.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

Severus had to admit a certain respect for the Twins; it was rare that you could slip anyone familiar with them something anymore, so they managed to make their targets _take it themselves_. It was a strange, twisted way of pranking that reeked of some sort of mind control that Severus was quite sure did not exist.

In any case, Harry had taken the little gray pastille of his own accord and promptly began to shrink. His clothes and hair turned gray and feathery, his thighbones shortened and his calves and foot lengthened and turned yellow. One of his toes turned backwards and his neck elongated to an ungainly length, upon which a small head with a very pointed beak sat.

Severus had to restrain his amusement as it became clear that Harry was not only turning into a heron but a _juvenile_ heron; his new feathers were as unkempt as his hair, downy and filamentous. They stuck vertically upwards from his head, which was itself staying eerily still in space as Harry tried and failed to stand up with knees and ankles that no longer had the range of movement he was used to. Broad, tatty wings were flailing disturbingly close to the chair that Harry had been sitting on before the prank had taken effect and so, with a long suffering sigh, Severus leant down and gathered the fragile appendages into their natural arrangement against Harry's flank and held them down, despite the squawking and kicking. With that done, he noticed with a certain smugness, Harry calmed down and gave a sharp beaked glare to the twins. Carefully pinning him against his side, Severus wrapped his upper body up in the trailing folds of his robes to keep the wings Harry had no idea how to use safe.

Severus was sure that Harry had expected to turn into a cat and to be in this ungainly, unmanageable body was much less agreeable to him, as evidenced by the sharp jab of his beak when Twin Two went to touch him. As Twin One was holding a large, irritated seal pup and teasing the thing mercilessly, Severus was able to escape out of the kitchen when Molly bore down on her sons with all the inevitability of the giant squid.

Once in Harry's room he unwrapped the avian bundle, carefully extracting Harry's head from up his sleeve. Merlin only knew how it had gotten up there, but Harry let out an undignified squawk as his feathers where rubbed the wrong way. Dumped safely in a feathery pile on the bed, Harry moved more cautiously than before to get his limbs arrayed in a usable way while Severus watched on from the tidier side of the bed. He had put Harry in the middle of the duvet so that if he did fall over he was in no danger of falling _off_, and he was able to sit back comfortably smirking at his less than successful efforts.

"Birds walk on their toes, Potter, stop trying to put your heel down." He said in his teacher-talking-to-an-idiot-student voice, earning himself a malicious glare that was surprisingly effective from beady little black eyes over a viciously sharp beak.

Nonetheless, Harry managed to fold his absurd and twiggy legs appropriately and make it to his feet. There was much flapping and his nearly fully developed wings helped him balance, losing a few downy chick feathers in the process. At his first step, however, he stumbled again and landed indignantly on his muscular chest, wings spread untidily.

Severus snorted at the ungainly sight and settled back with his hands laced over his stomach. Unless he was very much mistaken, a certain seal pup was being carried up stairs to the bathroom; if the noise was anything to go by, Ronald was still furious and Mrs Weasley equally so. It was fortunate the boys had held their prank until after dinner, or the woman would be incandescent.

A raggedy, feathered head landed on his stomach and Harry used it to lever himself to his feet again. The glare was gone, for now and he seemed to be enjoying himself which was, of course the aim of the exercise. There was splashing echoing up the stairs and through the open bedroom door, Severus smirked at the image of Ronald Weasley, seal pup, getting his soggy own back on his brothers. William's voice, back from courting the half-Veela presumably, joined the ruckus, recognisable by its deeper timbre.

He smoothed down the feathers on Harry's new neck absently as he wobbled, trying to keep balanced on his new legs. "I do not believe this is your natural form; even you could not be quite so inept." He commented quietly. Rather than the glare one might have expected, Harry looked relieved, much to Severus' amusement; it wasn't easy to tell what one's Animagus form would be, so early in the process because it wouldn't become fixed until the wizard had brewed the _Disambiguo_ potion. Severus had the powerful and insidious suspicious that Harry's form would be as powerful and as war like as the Gryffindor himself; the Twin's arbitrary allocation of 'heron' looked absurd in comparison. This, he supposed, was the point.

As he mused, Harry pulled away and tottered carefully up and down the bed beside Severus' outstretched leg. Where he of a mind to spend his evening patching up bitten fingers, he would have taken Harry down to the bathroom to dispense justice on the Terrible Twins, but he was content to sit and watch Harry wobble. Though... a coffee would not go amiss;

"Dobby!" There was no answering crack as the elf stuck his head out of Harry's bathroom, Severus was only mildly surprised as the elves had a habit of being where you don't expect them to be, but the leprechaun-green hat was its own brand of shocking.

"Yes Master Potions Master?" was the chipper answer, as the hat shifted to orange. Severus sighed and made his request, the accessory fading most distastefully through orange to livid purple.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

The following morning, Harry took advantage of his early habits and exacted his revenge; the Twins spent the day unable to speak without belching large green bubbles which drifted around, silent until they popped, at which point their words were released in a jumbled mess. Unable to do magic, he had borrowed Severus' lab to mix the necessary potion and then sprayed the resulting mist onto the twins during particularly impressive inward snores.

He'd then gone to wake up Ron and they'd watched the twins with massive grins as they tried to speak. Severus had swept past the room with his usual stern expression but Harry had found the potions vial he had used in his revenge later, labelled with a large "A" in Severus' cursive, along with a note about the grinding of his valerian root. Severus had stubbornly said nothing when asked about this after lunch, directing Harry instead to an array of ingredients that had been placed in no particular order on the bench and telling him to brew the appropriate potion.

Half an hour later, Harry had worked out what the potion was and settled nervously to brewing it. Unlike his prank, which had been a simple tincture of plant matter, this potion contained a broad range of ingredients so there was a step change in the level of complexity. While he had brewed this potion before, he had_ failed_, so he was rather on edge.

He double checked the instructions, and the interactions diagram he had scribbled out, _and _the ingredients and _then_ put the cauldron over the heat, which he also rechecked. Severus' amused snort from behind his own bench earned him a glare but spurred Harry on enough to begin grating the bezoar into the mineral oil warming quickly in the cauldron. It took some delicate work to grate the stone but not his fingers and he was glad when it was done. He knocked the grater with his stirring rod to get the last of the stone dust into the oil before he added the fluxweed.

A lick of bright red flames and a round of vigorous stirring later and the mineral oil was greenish brown and ready for the next step, much to Harry's relief. The xantham arboretia needed chopping within half a minute of being added to the potion, so he started on that, double checking that his knife was clean. He was fairly sure that it was the slime off a toad skin, left on his knife, which had spoiled his Featherweight Draught in the autumn term of last year.

Chop, grind, add, stir, heat, drizzle, stir, cool... On and on, Harry looked at the instructions so frequently it bordered on the obsessive and he felt the spirit of Hermione Granger at his right elbow. Thinking of which, he was reminded that she would be arriving on the day after tomorrow and the momentary distraction was enough that about half a gram of the purified salt he was dropping into the cauldron went into the flames instead, sparking bright orange. His heart raced and his eyes went wide as he looked up at Severus; the loud crackling of the big crystals couldn't have been missed, but the man looked calm and motioned for him to keep going. Since the salt had to be added all at once he couldn't just get more, so he moved on the next, and rather urgent, ingredient despite the mistake and continued until he had five minutes of steeping time in which to scribble down some calculations and work out how to fix it.

He was unaware of Snape's monitoring eye but it was there, curious as to how well he would compensate.

In the end, the potion was a shade pinker than purple as the added poppy and slightly reduced Icelandic Adder scales changed its colour, but with luck the potions cooling effect would still be as strong. Hopefully.

Severus had been at his shoulder since he finished the final heating stage and, now done with decanting the small cauldron into a vial, Harry slumped against the Potion Master's side, turning slightly on his stool and leaning his head against the man's ribs. Said ribs heaved with a sigh against his temple and a long fingered hand, warm from Severus' own brewing, landed on the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

"Were it not for your mistake that would have been an O. Concentration is key." Harry could feel the rumble of Severus' voice against his forehead and the man's thumb was rubbing soothingly up and down his neck.

"But I corrected it," he whined, arching his neck into Sev's hand. "Don't I get any credit for that?"

Severus snorted and patted Harry on the shoulder as he stepped away; "In practice? Yes. A fever reducer that reduces fevers is all to the good. But a mistake should not happen in the first place and you will lose marks for that in an exam."

Harry gave a little huff, partly at the admonition and partly at the fact that Severus had stepped away. "Well, whatever this Slughorn bloke's got going for him, at least he's not a hard to please as you."

"A mistake is a mistake, Potter!" Severus said, though Harry caught the amused glint in his eye as he glared at his... oh.

Harry, rather than rising to the bait, turned back so he was sitting straight and slouched slightly as his face creased in consternation. What exactly _was_ Severus? It had been bugging him for some time. They were nominally 'in a relationship', certain people knew that there was a 'them', but Harry shied away from the term boyfriend, with all its juvenile nuances. The term 'lover' would be wholly inaccurate since the few times they had been in bed together, they had done nothing but sleep, admittedly in faintly compromising levels of snuggle, but sleeping nonetheless. Severus was nothing if not an honourable man and he had not pushed Harry into something he was not ready for. _Sixteen and not ready _Harry thought, _Some teenage bloke I am. _He snorted to himself and leaned into the heavy black robes and warm arms that had surrounded him as he brooded.

Age of consent or not, he felt so naive, and so small next to Severus; the things he had seen, death and pain and fighting had taken his childhood away; a childhood that had only really gotten going when he was eleven, with Quidditch and Ron and Hermione and illegal dragons and rivalry with a Malfoy, and killing his Defence professor and trying not to die... and, and, and...

"Severus? Can you grow up without having a childhood?" He asked and, listening to his own voice, felt as old as he felt young. "I've become an adult without noticing, but how can I-"

"Yes, Harry, you can. I would know." Severus said, riding over him and cutting off his confused words and Harry held on tight as memories so brutally stolen came to mind. That one moment, where Snape Senior loomed over his Severus, his mother shouting out of sight, was enough for Harry. "I'm no paedophile, Harry Evans Potter, and I see you, sitting at the head of that table and facing a war that you've been fighting year on year, since before many even noticed it was still there. No one can see that and imagine that you are still a child, I am no exception."

Harry couldn't be reassured so easily, but he did laugh at the incorrect addition to his name. "Severus Snape, with your attitude to teaching, I seriously doubt you could be called a paedophile."

Severus' only answer was a deep, neutral hum that didn't tell Harry whether Sev agreed with him or not; a '_we shall see_'.

"As for the war, that's just how my life is. I'll just have to... keep the damage to a minimum, wont I?" he said, leaning against Severus' chest and staring into the middle distance. Sirius' face swam into the front of his mind, and Harry let it come and allowed the tears to stream down his face without protest. That was what he'd been trying to do that pivotal day, even though he had failed and fallen into Voldemort's trap. He was sharper now and he had Severus beside him; a mind mage capable of holding back Voldemort _without him even realising it_. He would not make the same mistakes twice.


	22. Chapter 22: Organization

_ AN: Sorry this is a little late, I had reason to travel to London, enjoy._

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two: Organization

The dining room was full that evening, all the Weasleys but Percy were there along with the bulk of Order members. Mad-Eye had muttered in his ear as he rounded the head of the table that Dung Fletcher was on guard duty at the Dursleys and Harry had grunted with distaste; he and Vernon Dursley deserved each other. Other than the stinking lowlife, Harry couldn't think of a Member who wasn't there. They hadn't used the dining room before, not while Harry'd been there, but with the number of people, he was glad.

The long, oak table was surrounded by chairs, and its surface covered with stacks of maps and folders of statistics and the ridiculous pamphlets the Ministry had released. Someone had spread a ward-map of Hogwarts in the middle, the lines of her defence marked out in bright colours and the secret passages drawn in, in fresh, dark ink. The ward-maps from the Alley and Hogsmeade were technically classified by the Unspeakables but Kingsley's Department had access to older, de-classified records and another Order member from the Department for Finance had access to the payslips for any renovations since and they'd managed to piece together a decent picture without _too_ much illegality.

People were crowded around the different maps and pointing things out to each other, one older man was sitting fanning himself, having just read the dossier on the Dementor issue, and Amelia Bones was standing over him, giving a stern lecture about Getting On With Things.

Fortunately, only Kingsley and Minerva had come to dinner before hand, easing the burden of cooking off Molly's back, but Dobby and Kreacher both were now handing 'round platters of tea and coffee. The table was full and people were standing around the borders of the room, exchanging information at a rapid pace; the noise was impressive. Harry was near the door with Ron and Ginny;

"Look, you don't know a shred of Occlumency _and_ you're prime targets for a kidnapping, I'd rather not give Moldy-Shorts _another_ reason to rip someone out of my life!" Ron went pale and Ginny's eyes turned flinty; Harry felt a surge of pride in her and was certain that her first talk with Hermione the day after next would include the words "Books", "Occlumency" and "_Now."_

"Bloody hell, mate..." Ron muttered weakly, blinking and oblivious to Tonks bumping into his back and apologising.

"I'm sorry Ron, you _know_ I'll share with you what I can but..." Harry said, gripping the red-head's shoulder and squeezing.

"You're right, I'm sorry Harry, I'll stop pestering. It's just... you know what it's like, after last year." Ron left it hanging, both the plea and the unspoken acknowledgment of how hard it had been for Harry to go without news.

"It's alright, really, it is, and I'm sorry, now go on." He said with a grin to soften what could have sounded like an order. Ginny nodded and began pulling her brother away. Ron went willingly, touching Harry's shoulder in unspoken support before he was too far away.

When the door closed behind them, the atmosphere in the room shifted subtly and there was the feeling of waiting for something to happen. Harry made his way to the head of the table easily; when people are paying that much covert attention to you, they have a tendency to not be in your way. Once he was beside Dumbledore, the man rose from his seat to Harry's left and called them to silence. Minerva was to his right and Snape stood behind his left shoulder, much to his secret comfort; no other Order members had stood behind his chair with Severus looking so baleful. Behind him the silk banner Dobby had made shone in the candle light; stag, sword and crows gleamed in thread of silver and gold and echoed the pin in his collar.

The hierarchy was complicated at best, given that the room was so packed, and it had turned multi-dimensional. As Dumbledore caught all their attention and those who could, sat, Harry noted that a group of witches and wizards in finery that suggested ministry employment were avoiding contact with the block of Aurors. A glance at Severus earned him a practically invisible nod and Harry tuned back into Dumbledore's update on the state of Hogwarts' wards.

With the success' of the trip to the Chamber, the modifications were complete; the wards on the secret tunnels had been 'chained' to the Castle side of the cave-ins, where necessary, and otherwise had been armed with layers of curses that Harry found himself getting a little vindictive pleasure out of. He did, however, share a mournful look with the Twins at one point; no more secret escapades in the village.

The Marauder's Map was requested and produced; the Twins swiftly unfolded it and spread it over the table. Their work, performed with Remus' help, was apparent as the Map now showed the same golden lines of the ward boundaries as the ward-map and the Chamber stood out from the paper, inked in with blacker, less faded lines than the rest of the map and the entrance was labelled with a small writhing image of a snake, one that Harry had to studiously ignore. As it was, the first syllable of his explanation of the Room of Requirement came out as a hiss that he covered with a well placed sneeze.

"Uh, excuse me, sorry. Right; the entrance is here," he pointed to the seventh floor corridor and there was a unanimous leaning in and holding of breath and people crowded in to see, "Opposite a portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, training Trolls; it's Unplottable, since the door doesn't actually exist unless you need it. Walk past the door three times, holding in your head what you want, and the door will appear." There was a faint ripple of whispers and someone in the back even muttered "_I knew there wasn't a bathroom there before!"_

The decision to make the Room common knowledge was an easy one, considering that Umbridge knew about it now. Presumably, the 'Inquisitorial Squad' would have run home to their parents too; a significant number of them had known Death Eater's in the family. Harry would be holding the DA there in any case, and if it was to be as open as he hoped, then it'd soon get around anyway.

"The intention is that non-combatants will be able to retreat here if the wards raise the alarm; unlike the Great Hall, it lies in central to the school. No windows, no roof and seven floors away from the nearest point of entry." Unless the Auror corps fell, in which case the Floo network would turn the school into a sieve; they were working on that. "With them out of the way, we can turn the Castle back into a fortress if we need to." Harry said. Marshalling the students, keeping them safe, had been a part of his life for years, by then, and it felt utterly natural to take responsibility for them. He hoped, with all he had, that it would give the teachers the freedom to do what was necessary. It wasn't time to announce that the students wouldn't so meekly sit in their bolt hole, once the youngest of their number was safe; sitting here in a safe room, with the most powerful wizard of their age sitting next to Harry, it would be met with derision.

With Order members so warned to guard the seventh floor they moved on.

The Twin's had made good progress on the Patronii, as had the Auror Department and Shacklebolt was pushing for it to be included in the self-Defence booklet the Ministry was putting out, how likely it was to get in was up for debate, however. The admission that the Ministry didn't have full control of the Dementors would give the populace serious motivation, but would also be a blow to the Ministry that it could ill afford after the debacle in June. Though, with photographs floating about of the duel between Voldemort and the Headmaster, plenty of people were starting to batten down the hatches already. There was brief discussion about mass-hysteria and panic but Mad-Eye squashed it with a single sentence:

"People can't panic when they're dead; we can work with panic."

The brutality of the statement had quietened the debate, even though people didn't know what to make of it, and Dumbledore moved them swiftly onwards. Reports from the feelers they had put out in the werewolf and Giant communities were coming back and Remus had the dubious honour of delivering bad news; Fenrir Greyback had taken the wolves by their scruffs and forged a pack of unprecedented size out of the erstwhile scattered British werewolves. Under the direct control of Voldemort, at that; Fenrir was loyal and Voldemort had them convinced that anarchy would be better for them than peace.

Severus added at that point that he had been Called to administer to a number of werewolves who had fallen ill due to untreated wounds from the previous full moon.

"He's keeping them under control, contained; confined even. Fighting amongst themselves." Harry said, half to himself, but loud enough to be heard. "Shacklebolt; there hasn't been any werewolf attacks in the papers, have you heard of any?" he said, making eye contact with the Auror across the table.

"Ah, I see what you're saying; no, it was a quiet full moon, not that they're unusual, but with Greyback in charge, it's unexpected unless..." The black man said, glancing at Remus part way through the sentence. The werewolf nodded back;

"Harry's right. Without prey, they would turn on each other if they had the entire Forbidden Forest to roam, let alone in confinement." Harry didn't like the look on Remus' face, but now wasn't the time to interject, "That fits with the difficulties I've had contacting them this past month; a pack that size splinters and fights, even with a man like Greyback at the head, they will be working on their hierarchy for months to come. Outsiders will not be welcome."

Harry saw Dumbledore's face look older and more tired than usual, just for a fraction of a second before the man effortlessly caught the attention of the meeting. "Very well, Remus. Do what you can, but avoid the Greyback pack for now. Focus on keeping any remaining wolves out of the fight. Hagrid, what of the Giants?"

And they moved on. Harry had nothing to say about the giants, and nor did many others; there was little experience of the species amongst the Order and as the negotiations were taking place abroad, there were few rumours to be picked up in England. The only fact of note was that Nott the elder had not been seen since the giants had begun to turn against Hagrid's negotiations. Arthur Weasley made a truly awful pun about that being "Nott much to go on," before they moved on and Harry made a mental note to mention it to Ron.

Such housekeeping aspects of the meeting completed, they moved on to the reason so many Order members had been gathered: the predicted Halloween raid.

"I fully agree with Potter and Shacklebolt's predictions; the man is nothing if not self-important." Severus said in what Harry recognised as his lecturing voice. "Though his numbers increase steadily, he also cannot wait too long; there is talk amongst the Death Eaters, rumours and unsavoury wishes, predominantly, and as such an attack is inevitable. The Dark Lord must balance the success of a potential strike with the eagerness of his men, or they will start heading out alone and undermine his control."

"Is this something we can take advantage of? Pick off small, reckless groups?" Asked a shrewd looking Auror from half way down the table when Severus paused.

"Potentially yes, however there would be no way of predicting such a strike as I, as a member of the Inner Circle, will not be approached by the sort of reckless idiots liable to do this. As a result civilian losses would be formidable. Thus, I will remind the more senior Death Eaters to maintain control of their lesser comrades. Our best chance lies in pitched battles; planned and prepared for on both sides. It is also the Dark Lord's best chance of maintaining a cohesive force which moves with the appropriate agility to continue his campaign; his orders will benefit us in this." Harry sat back and watched Sev work his magic with a quiet pride. "The Dark Lord is as yet unaware of the leak I represent and fully expects the Order to be ignorant of upcoming strikes, giving us an advantage."

Something occurred to Harry then, something he felt he should have noticed sooner; whenever Severus handed damaging information over to the Order, he was risking exposure. Not directly, but knowledge only available to the Inner Circle, suddenly apparent in the Orders actions would be intensely suspicious; made all the more dangerous by Snape's known association with Dumbledore and the lack of truly useful information on the Order that he passed on. Harry shuddered and resolved to ask Severus how he managed. Perhaps their tentative plans for Harry's emancipation would be a benefit to Snape's position.

"...-with Diagon Alley coming a distant second. The most likely attack would proceed through a large village or a town, causing destruction in the manner of an extreme weather system to avoid alerting the Muggle authorities. The population chosen is most likely largely muggle but his flare would require that at least one family of muggle-borns or half-bloods reside there, in order to make absolutely certain that the incident reaches the press in good time."

"When will the target be chosen? How long will we have to prepare?" Asked an older gentleman from the back,

"Possibly as long as a month, but most likely significantly less." There were mutters and Harry heard mention of wards and port-keys and all manner of other ways of getting to the raid in time.

"Prudence dictates that we already are in position before the Death Eaters strike, capturing or permanently incapacitating," The group looked unhappy with that, Harry noticed, and he marvelled that these people, after fighting for so long, were still innocent enough to balk at that. "as many as possible before the Dark Lord arrives. Without him, Death Eaters are often disorganised and more concerned with internal politics and causing chaos than a specific goal, making them an easier target."

"Given the potentially limited preparation time, there may not be time for prisoner port-keys to be produced in the required quantities-"

With that, they settled into the detailed planning of logistics and Harry found himself with little to contribute beyond what he had seen of raids in visions, including, to the distress of many, what victims may need by way of medical treatment. They had rarely survived to need it before.

Later that evening, as Harry donned cool cotton pyjamas and his door closed on the man he was rapidly coming to love, he felt more solid, more stable than he had in over a year. With each meeting of the Order, formally or informally, he had felt a sense of purpose; a dissolution of the helpless, powerless little boy that his adult self had been forced to be.

He stood by his window for a moment, not looking out, but at the small, terracotta pot that had perched there since his birthday; good, solid, _reliable_ Neville Longbottom... The three seeds planted so carefully inside were growing well, each a subtly different shade of green and already the shoots were twisting around each other, supporting and being supported, so very much like the Defence Association. After a moment, Harry huffed and chided himself for reading too much into a simple, kind gift; the flowers and seed pods would glow and were known for warding off nightmares. It would be a pleasant respite.

After a long moment, he turned and buried himself in the covers for another attempt at the meditation prescribed in his Animagus text; a heron _indeed_, he grumbled to himself.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

"Hermione!"

The bushy, brown hair concealed Ron from view for a brief second, and then again when Hermione hugged Harry and he got a face full.

"It's great to see you. How were your parents?" Harry asked pulling back with his hands on her shoulders. Her grin was both excited and energetic;

"Oh, they're fine Harry. Ginny!" And she was off again, talking a mile a minute as she gave Ron's little sister her hug. The two boys stood back and let the three 'ladies' get on with it, hoping to avoid the inevitable 'have you started your essays yet?' and the 'it's only two years until your NEWTS!'

"Dobby, can you Apparate her bags before she notices? She has so many books, it's bonkers." Harry asked the elf, who popped in halfway through his name. They shared a grin and the two big suitcases vanished with a soft pop. "Cheers. You want me to come help with dinner? Let Molly talk 'Mione's ear off for a bit." He said to the elf in a confidential whisper as Ron got stolen by a hyper Hermione.

"If sir is wanting to wash potatoes and clean leeks, what is elf-kind to refuse him." Dobby replied with a throw-away gesture, already heading to the kitchen stairs.

"Right-o, spuds it is. Might make 'Mione feel better about you wearing my shield, if I'm up to my elbows in muddy water, too." He said with a pat on Dobby's shoulder, just a moment before Sirius' mum started laying into the world at large.

Harry and the elf scarpered down the remaining stairs and shut the kitchen door behind them. The kitchen was empty for once, and they settled down to cooking.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

"It really was brilliant, Harry! The Pegasus Races were something special, you would have loved it. It's an obstacle course, really-" Hermione still hadn't come down of her excited high, not really, as they finished up their meal. Harry watched with amused sympathy as Snape stalked out the door, retreating into his lab; the man's magic had been sparking erratically ever since he had sat down, particularly since Hermione had blithely taken the chair to Harry's right. He was just grateful that their Potions assignment hadn't actually come up in conversation, Snape would have snapped properly.

"Oh, thank goodness... Harry, have you started your potions assignment yet? I couldn't ask because of the Professor, but we really don't have that much time left," She rattled off the moment the door banged closed behind Snape. Harry drew a heavy sigh and dumped his head on his hands.

"Really, Hermione? Yes I have and no, Ron hasn't; he's not taking Potions. Besides Snape won't be teaching Potions this year; he's finally got the DADA job." Harry said in an exasperated voice, "I'm surprised you managed to wait so long to ask."

Hermione huffed loudly, turning her nose up; "Well, I'm not like some in this room; _I have manners!"_ She said. Harry thought he shouldn't have been insulted, but he was, just a little bit.

"Oi, you! I'm a Lord now, I've learnt plenty of manners! For one, how rude were you when you sat in Arthurs place!" Harry said with just a touch of outrage and some mock horror.

"I Di- what?" Hermione said, losing her superior attitude, which was itself half mock anyway.

"Now, now, Harry, you know I don't mind..." Arthur said with quiet amusement. Hermione was leaning on the table with interest; there was that look she got sometimes, when a thousand questions swam just beneath the surface and he was seeing just a hint of it now.

"I _was_ wondering why Professor Snape would sit by you, and when did you become a Lord? Why are you at the head of the table? Oh, and what happened at Privet Drive?" She said, with no hint of running out of questions any time soon, so Harry just cut in;

"I inherited the House of Black, and not just the building, if you know what I mean. Kreacher, the Wards, and the title." He said with a little tremor in his voice that no one reacted to, he hoped they didn't notice at all; he really was coping, he thought with a quick glance at the foot of the table. "That makes me the host, and everyone here my guests, so I have to sit at the head of the table."

Mr Weasley was helping with the washing up and Mrs Weasley was knitting by the fire behind him, so he hoped they would correct him if he got it wrong;

"There's a kind of tradition of seating, don't worry there's books and books about this stuff upstairs, where you sit in order of um... status, or power." He said, pausing for a moment and absently standing to collect up the goblets before going on; "so, if Dumbledore comes to dinner, he sits to my left, because he's the most influential and McGonagall to my right, because she's his second and I don't really have one; well I sort of do, while Snape is living here, so he would sit there if McGonagall didn't out rank him at Hogwarts. Its... um,"

"Hierarchy?" Hermione chipped in eagerly and he nodded.

"See, Snape's living here, and he's a Professor and plays a big role in the Order, so he sits high up, usually next to me." Hermione was raising an incredulous eyebrow at him, "I know; I was surprised at how well we can get along out of school; I haven't yelled at him _once_." He said, not mentioning Snape in that sentence because the man had berated him a couple of times; Hermione was perceptive and would spot the bending of the truth in his expression.

"I don't believe it... That's so _strange_! After all this time...!" Hermione looked impressed before shaking herself and standing, "I am sorry Arthur, I didn't mean to break tradition," She said as she picked up a tea towel and helping him with the rather large stack of drying plates, "But really, it does sound rather archaic..."

Harry laughed at her, just a little bit; "'Mione, we write with _quills._ On _parchment_." She blushed at that and turned back to the sideboard to put plates away.

"Yes, well, that's true, I suppose."

"Besides, it has its use in meetings, helps keep things straight." He finished, giving Dobby the last of the dirty crockery. Hermione was quiet and a bit still for a moment too long before replying without turning around.

"You're an Order member now, then."

"Yeah, my Occlumency is up to scratch; I only have true visions now." He said solemnly, looking down at his hands, gripping the back of his chair, "He can't get in."

"Good. That's good..." Hermione said as she shelved the last plates and fussed with folding her tea towel. "I want to learn, too. I think we need to, don't we?" She finally looked at him and he gave her a reassuring half-smile;

"Yeah, I'm surprised Ginny hasn't mentioned it yet, we were talking about it the other day." He said jokingly, easing up on his death grip on the back of the chair. "Come on, let's go find Ron."

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

Harry recoiled in horror and dismay as Ollivander was thrown to the stone floor before his feet. The satisfaction rolling over him was so thick and cloying that he felt suffocated with its weight, even as the ever-present madness burned him like a brand.

"Ah, so kind of you to join us, wand-maker..." He could feel the words as if they came from his own mouth, his tongue quick and hissing with malice. As Voldemort lifted his wand, Harry felt the ridges and curl of the Yew hard against his palm, felt the thick, suppurating magic flowing through Voldemort's body, building in his wand.

"'I remember every wand I have ever sold', I believe was the phrase..." He stood and Harry stood with him, dragged, and trapped in the Dark Lords skin, "What is the connection between this wand, _my _wand, and the one residing in Harry Potter's hand?" Harry wanted to scream, to tell the old, fragile man to just give in, not to resist, because the magic was building, waiting to rush forwards and hurt, hurt, hurt, like nothing else. But his screams were silent and ultimately futile.

A single moment of defiance, no more than a catching of the gaze and rage over took Voldemort, drowning Harry and laying him open to the foulness of the curse,

_You have to mean it, Harry..._ Said an echo of a memory before;

"_Crucio!"_

But he didn't mean it, couldn't; the magic that roared through Voldemort's wand burned and cut and flayed his soul off his bones; a thousand knives twisting in his gut. He couldn't tell, truly, when the curse ended because the pain lingered, twitching and writhing under his skin, but the vision returned and Voldemort was speaking once again.

"So simple this could be, so easy... just a touch of potion to your tongue, but I am not so kind. Mulciber!"

Ollivander's face was close, white and shiny with sweat, his breathing harsh and trembling as the Death Eater hauled him up. For a moment the man's legs wouldn't hold him but then there was the mutter of an _Imperio_, forcing him to steady, eyes blank. With the next _Crucio,_ Harry's screams obliterated his perception of the vision, but the connection held. Voldemort's magic clung to him like viscous, elastic slime; no matter how much he thrashed and screamed he couldn't get free. As the curse faded and returned time and time again, his struggles escalated; wild and reckless until at last, Voldemort became aware of the foreign presence in his mind and blocked him with the force of a battering ram.

A final, relieved and pained cry escaped him as he woke properly, his body impossibly heavy and tangled in his bed clothes. His throat burned with each fast, harsh breath as he fought for air and only the warm hand pressing against his chest stopped his usual panicked rush. Instead of tumbling out of bed and onto a hardwood floor, he brought a hand up to grip the wrist as tight as he could;

"Ollivander, oh god, they've got Ollivander!" He gasped, his eyes roaming helplessly, unable to focus on the dark shape hovering over him,

"Be still, Harry, breathe and I will let you explain, just please _breathe_." Severus' voice could not have been more welcome as he struggled through the aftershocks and pain. He could feel the warmth pouring into him from Severus' hand on his chest, suffusing his pyjamas and banishing the deathly, clinging cold of his vision. He flexed his hand around Severus' bony wrist, nodding and drawing a deep breath, only to lose it a moment later as a flash of pain raced across his shoulders and made him arch, his face screwed up eloquently.

He tried again as his head swam, Severus' free hand slipping around the back of his neck and easing him up slightly, freeing up his throat. This time he drew air more slowly and let it go before it triggered another aftershock.

"Good, again." Severus was insistent, Harry would give him that, he thought as he let clean air rush through him like a balm. Severus' hand shifted to press against his heartbeat gently for half a minute before pulling away slightly and casting a diagnostic charm over him.

"They've captured Ollivander, Severus, Voldemort wants to know about our wands," He mumbled, the grip he had on Severus' hand beginning to tremble weakly as his muscles protested. The ragged edges of his throat made it hard to resist coughing and his voice dried up into a hoarse whisper. "It was _Cruciatus_, I don't know how many... it hurts-"

He broke down into rough coughs and, after a muffled hiss from the blur sitting beside him, he was pulled up to sit against Severus chest. When the coughing had faded enough a glass of cold water was offered up to his lips and he drank slowly; just enough to wash away the burn of screaming.

"Harry, I am going to give you Dreamless sleep, among other things, understand?" Severus chest behind him rumbled wonderfully against his painfully oversensitive skin but the last thing he wanted was to go to sleep. He twisted fretfully and griped Severus' sleeve in a trembling hand, shaking his head with a low moan until Severus' hand came up againsthis neck and the side of his face, holding him still against a black-silk clad shoulder. "Quiet, come now... hush. I refuse to let you be in pain any longer."

"You'll be called, soon... Veritaserum..." He said with a thread of panic worming its way into his voice, "I don't care if he finds out... it doesn't matter." Harry tailed off as his arms failed him, slipping uselessly to the mattress; anything else he might have said garbled into a pained moan. His vision swam and tilted, the world swooping around him,

"Silly, noble Gryffindor... I will be here when you wake up, you have my word." Severus said directly into his ear, holding Harry close for a moment, then pulling back and leaning to one side slightly. He thought he heard Dobby's voice for a moment but then unpleasant Potions were offered up for him to drink and he had little choice but to swallow. He recognised a muscle relaxant as it flowed straight into his blood and through his limbs, then a painkiller by the feel of a breeze over his skin.

Eventually, as he was slipping into a mindless drugged sleep, he finally felt at ease; his anxiety over leaving Severus to face his daemons alone dissolving under the warmth of Severus' hand on his cheek.


	23. Chapter 23: Aftermath and an Excursion

_AN: Enjoy! _

_Have had one person anonymously criticize this story for the age gap; fair enough, in real life, in not-wartime, this would be weird. Fact of the matter is, for this story, Harry Potter _is not a child_. _

* * *

Chapter Twenty Three: Aftermath and an Excursion

The Dark Lord had not made a liar of him, at least, he mused as he washed the muck of the Snake's lair off his hands; he had to soap up to his elbows to feel clean. Ollivander had been pliant enough, _boring_ enough, after the potion's administration that the fragile old man had been ignored and shuffled into a dungeon. A subtle bone-warming charm, a flu shot, and Severus felt with some confidence that he would survive until a rescue or escape was orchestrated. He dried his hands and noted the smell of cinnamon on his towel with quiet appreciation; Harry's presence was becoming ubiquitous in his life and he was utterly unwilling to object.

When he pushed open Harry's door, both Granger and a number of Weasley's were perched around the room, few of whom had the required Occlumency to know of his relationship with the sleeping Lord. The twins were an enigma in that regard; decent enough Occlumens, and so secretive that Severus didn't care to guess as to what they thought. They had not made comment to either Harry or himself, but given what they had seen down in the Chamber of Secrets they had to be aware. Their eyes tracked him as he crossed the carpet, while the younger parties remained fixated on Harry; their fervour, the intensity of their loyalty was truly terrifying to a man like Severus, it made them unpredictable, dangerous. To Harry however, they would, and did, form the core of his army; his reason for fighting. When Ronald had shown the other side of that loyalty, the damage it could cause when broken, it had sapped Harry's strength; they had all seen it, _feared_ it, even then. The boy in question was tracking him, standing by Granger's chair, full of passion and undirected rage. The tension in the room spiked.

He checked Harry's pulse and temperature, under Ronald's scrutiny; understandable, when Harry looked so pale and small in a bed that could fit everyone in the room. He was asleep, normally for once, and would be waking soon; the potions he had taken would wear off and Harry would surface, weak but free of pain. The only reason so many were gathered in the room was that Harry was not awake to show them he was yet whole; unlike Severus, they had not borne witness to Harry's visions, had not treated his ills and seen him come to rights again. Severus allowed himself a small huff as he took out a potions journal and planted himself in a conjured, high back chair by Harry's head. He did not bother opening the pages, however.

There; Harry's eyes fluttered under their lids again. His pulse had been lethargic rather than slow and the potions he had taken precluded dreaming and mental intrusion, leaving only one conclusion.

Slowly and deliberately, Severus rolled his journal into a loose tube, leaned over and smacked Harry firmly on the shoulder.

"Oi!" The teenager in question _pouted_ and cracked an eyelid, speaking hoarsely, "That was unnecessary, sir."

His words were lost in the initial outraged cry as Ronald shot up in protest while Granger and Ginerva were clamouring at Harry. The twins were smirking in a way that made Severus return the expression, quite unwillingly.

"How long have you been awake?! No, wait, never mind, are you alright? Mum told us what happened," Ginerva said in a rush as Harry struggled to sit up under the weight of a relieved and bushy-haired Granger.

"Ahem." Snape coughed pointedly, raising an eyebrow and gesturing succinctly for them all to get out of his way. Granger had turned an amusing red and scrambled off the bed, handing Harry his glasses before going back to her seat next to Ronald. Ginerva was a little more reluctant and lingered with the stubbornness typical of her breed.

"I'm fine, Gin; 'bin through all this before, stop looking at me like that." Harry muttered good naturedly, causing Severus to scoff; it was apparent even to the naked eye that Harry was not up to speed just yet, though he didn't doubt that Harry felt as sanguine as he appeared.

"Your hand, Mr Potter." He said, holding his own out demandingly as the youngest Weasley moved out of the way. He deliberately made Harry reach a little before taking his wrist, revealing the extent of residual tremors. They were minor; enough to cause poor handwriting, at most, and Severus moved on to checking distal circulation and dexterity, ordering Harry to touch certain fingers to his thumbs. A little clumsy on the third finger and significantly weakened from Harry's usual broom-handle-gripping force but otherwise unremarkable. The checks were mostly an excuse to be _here_, touching Harry, in any case.

After a moment, tests complete, he unceremoniously dropped Harry's hand back to the bed. The Weasleys and Granger were uncharacteristically quiet, shooting glances between Harry and himself, waiting. Severus drawled in response to their rather pathetic and unnecessary anxiety;

"He will live. Bed rest; feed and water three times a day, etcetera, etcetera." He left without another word, waving a negligent and dismissive hand behind him.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

Harry laughed quietly at Snape's parting remarks, despite knowing that he had to go to Dumbledore now, to report. Harry looked to the twins pleadingly, indicating that at least one go after him. He received a nod and one red head left the room.

Ron had been immediately distracted by the mention of food and was saying, from Harry's desk chair; "-didn't have any. Do you think Dobby's got some?"

"With you around? I'm sure he's made allowances." Ginny shot back scathingly, "What do you want, Harry? We can eat up here."

Mrs Weasley wouldn't look on that too kindly and he wasn't particularly eager to fumble his way through feeding himself with an audience, but he wasn't about to argue with the look on Ginny's face. "Um, something easy? Porridge?" He hedged, shuffling himself more upright in bed. With some resignation he tested out his leg muscles, finding them in as poor a condition as the rest of him; he really would prefer to stay in bed for the morning, regardless of Severus' edict. He could quite happily manage with so many people in his once-quiet house; let there be minions.

"Dobby is getting it!" cried a squeaky voice from the region of Harry's bathroom, "Dobby is bringing up Harry's breakfast, but his Wheezes is getting their own!" A scrubbing brush appeared out from behind the bathroom door and gestured emphatically. Harry smiled at that; Dobby really was a free elf, these days and he became more of an equal as the weeks passed. He tapped Hermione's hand to get her attention and they shared a grin.

Not ten minutes later, they were all settled around him again, with varying breakfasts on lap trays or in bowls and chattering away. The strain of Harry's vision was still obvious; they looked at him more often than they usually would and he acknowledged on his part that he felt pretty pathetic, but they had gotten used to his desire to forget about such things. The Twin who had followed Severus to his meeting returned soon enough and subtly let Harry know that he could disclose the contents of his vision. _After breakfast,_ Harry decided, listening to the easy talk of simple, teenage things.

"Hermione! I can't just _dye_ my hair! I am a Weasley and I do have some pride." Ginny squeaked, niggling 'Mione in the ribs,

"I wasn't the one saying that blondes get all the attention, honestly." Hermione replied, rescuing her peppered eggs from sliding off the plate. Ron and the Twins were keeping wisely quiet, Harry noted as he shared an eye roll with George. Or Fred. He squinted at them in the age-old Gryffindor past-time of trying to tell them apart.

"Why Harry, one might think,"

"That there's something to look at!" They chorused as they caught on. Having finished their food, the leapt up and settled on either side of him, trapping him in the middle of his bed, with his nearly finished porridge. He eyed them with some trepidation, rather aware of their sideways looks since the night at the Chamber. He held his breakfast up pointedly, hoping it would protect him for a bit.

It seemed to succeed but the pair watched him like hawks as he scraped up the last few spoonfuls, as much as they pretended to be paying attention to and mocking the girly conversation at the end of the bed. When he couldn't drag it out any longer, he gave up, slumped against his pillows and shoved the bowl at Fred. Probably. He made a great pomp of setting the bowl and spoon aside then turning and falling on Harry, evil, tickling fingers outstretched. George soon joined in and Harry was squirming and kicking and growling at them both, trying and failing not to laugh.

Eventually, sooner than Harry would have liked, they were all flopped out in a panting, laughing mess. Harry had managed to get the twins back by calling in Hermione and Ginny, and Ron had been dragged in when the Twins folded and the girls were still going. He didn't take tickling well though, his face was bright red and he rarely breathed while being so assaulted so he was panting almost as hard as Harry. His pillows had been lost somewhere in the chaos so he flopped out flat on his back and let the endorphins of a good tickle-fest run through his trembling limbs and sooth the sore away.

It didn't seem like the moment to tell them about Ollivander, so he pushed himself up with a grunt and flopped over a recumbent George, who was no help at all, to fish out Luna's healing book and recover his pillows from the floor. Shoving them back against the headboard he was smacked in the back of the head by another pillow, which earned Ron a glare. Hermione was settling in next to him fast as you could think and the twin who had been occupying that space scrambled to keep from falling to the floor.

He shared a grin with his bookish best friend and flipped past the introduction to the meat of the book. "Gin and these useless lumps," He said a little louder than necessary, prodding a twin in the ribs with his foot, "have heard all about the new DA, so now it's your turn."

He did get around to telling them about Ollivander, once the mood turned serious again, but said nothing of Snape's involvement. He decided that the confusion and teenage distrust they had for him was best left well alone for now. He did catch Hermione and Ginny talking briefly about Occlumency, however, and concealed a pleased grin. It was dubious whether Ron would ever have that much self control, but if anyone could get him working on something it was Hermione; she did, after all, have years of practice.

After their midmorning brunch, only Ron was truly hungry at lunch but they all trooped down to the kitchen anyway. It didn't escape Harry's notice that the Twins were permanent features on either side of him and he took advantage of their solicitous nature by slapping a Prank Plaster on the back of their necks. They were his own creation; a slip of prank parchment, pre-charmed with a colour changing hex, stuck to the underside of a muggle sticking plaster. The fine hairs on the back of their necks stopped them from pulling the plaster off casually and the paper stayed in contact with their skin, making them blush blue and become somewhat... stripy.

The end result of that particular prank had them slinging him over their shoulder in the ever-undignified fireman's lift and got him dumped unceremoniously in his chair. He shifted and rubbed his abused bum, trying not to be too obvious.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

On Saturday the Sixteenth of August, the House of Black, which did not in fact contain any Blacks, mobilised and headed into London.

The Leaky was as busy as it ever was in the month between Hogwarts letters going out and the start of September and Harry's only protection from the crowd was the phalanx of Weasleys around him and Hermione. Their real guards, Order members in quiet, everyday dress, made no move to reduce the popular and journalistic attention the group got. That was sort of the point, but it didn't make Harry any more comfortable. It didn't help that Severus was back at Hogwarts for the day, brewing something noxious for His Majesty the Milk Snake. Sev hated it, Harry hated it and whoever was on the other end of that potion was going to hate it too.

All in all, not the best day ever.

As they by-passed the excitable crowd to get to the entrance to Diagon, he tried to smile and nod to the students he recognised in the crowd, mostly as a way to avoid making eye contact with a reporter. He could have just stared at his feet the whole time, but that would make this whole absurd exercise pointless. He had to look healthy, sane and confident, to counter some of the lingering rumours spread by the Ministry. He let out an unhappy huff as they finally made it into the back alley between the Leaky and Diagon, they had a moment of quiet and he ran his hands over his face, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead.

"Ready?" Bill asked with wand poised to open the archway; Harry nodded and squared his shoulders as the bricks rolled and folded back.

"Right then, Gringotts." Said the eldest red-head, heading off. The plan was to go with him and leave him at the bank for his shift once they had their money, and then it was off to Flourish and Blotts'. The crowds were as thick out here as they were in the pub but were paying less attention, Harry was relieved to see, and they managed to get to the bank without being molested. As he stood at the top of the marble stairs, waiting to shuffle through the large doors, he spotted a reporter making his way out of the Leaky Cauldron; there would be an ambush waiting by the time they got out of the bank. He groaned and hung his head as the group made their way into the atrium; definitely not the best day ever.

At least it wasn't raining.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

The only plus in a long, arduous day, filled with press and thick crowds, was running into Neville in Scriveners' and having a catch-up while Hermione dithered over inks. By the time they were heading back not only had they been forced to forgo a visit to Fortescue's because old Florean was missing but there were dark shadows at the edges of the crowds that were paying the group more attention than they were comfortable with. The reporters had their photos and Harry had even answered a couple of questions; it was time to get back. With any luck the Aurors that had been drafted to watch the street during the trip would be able to pick up a few of those lurking shapes.

They all packed into the space between the Leaky Cauldron and the Alley to use their port-key; best not to Floo back, yelling out the name of their secret base as they did. Their Order guard kept traffic out of the archway and would then filter off, apparating and flooing home once they were gone.

Harry, for one, was doing better with port-keys now, but he still shouldered his way between a Twin and Ron, so he didn't fall on one of the girls when they landed. It did expose him to some ridicule when he stumbled first left, then right as he bounced off Forge and into Ron when they struck the floor. He managed to keep a foot under him and keep it there, though, for long enough that he didn't actually fall over.

The new rucksack he'd had to buy, given how his old one was fairly extensively shredded, stained and held together with charms, was full of books, quills, owl treats and the fripperies' of school life. He hadn't actually got everything he needed, but Dobby had already sorted out uniform and he wanted to ask Severus about Potions ingredients before stocking up. Or getting Dobby to stock up for him. There hadn't been time to stop for lunch, between the crowds, their self imposed time limit and the slowly growing troupe of journalists, so he was hungry as well as ruffled. He shrugged the strap higher up his shoulder irritably; they had taken an inordinate number of photos too, always flashing in his eyes and asking loud questions.

He waved absently to the Twins as the ducked into the Floo Parlour to apparate back to their shop. What he really wanted to do was hex something and the wand against his wrist was positively humming but he really couldn't afford to use it. At least there were enough adult wizards around that accidental magic wouldn't be noticed, he mused as they crept awkwardly upstairs and away from Mrs Black.

Ginny, Ron and Hermione split off on the first floor to dump their shopping while Harry headed up to the second with his, making a little more sound on the steps than was strictly necessary. His bag got flung unceremoniously at the bed and he knocked around the room for a few moments, stomping to the bathroom for a drink, then stripping out of his robe in favour of a hoodie. As his ruffled head popped out of the neck and he swept the hood back, he spotted Severus standing at the door with a faint smirk. The man had obviously just come from brewing; his hair back to that horrible lank, greasy mess that it was during term and his robes heavy and protective, but Harry couldn't have been more grateful to see him.

He stomped forwards with a low growl and practically collided with his broad chest, making no effort to hug him and burying his face in the collar of his robes. Severus just grunted slightly and draped his arms over Harry's back, pulling him in so they were chest to chest, with Harry's head on his shoulder and his irate breath puffing against his neck.

"That bad, hmm?" He murmured lowly, voice grumbling from a morning of disuse.

"Bloody, damned, hex-your-mother _journalists_." Harry snapped, his shoulders twitching in agitation as he finally wrapped his arms around Severus' waist and shuffled more comfortably against him.

"Skeeter?" Severus asked quietly, turning them a little so he could lean back against the door frame.

"That, that little..._dungbeetle_. No. Not that I _saw_ anyway. Did I tell you about what Hermione did at the end of fourth year?" Harry said, lifting his head so Sev could see his broad smirk.

"You did not. Do share." His raised eyebrow was somewhat less effective from inside his personal space, Harry realised, but rather more attractive.

"She's an illegal Animagus. She actually _is_ a beetle. She was spying on me during the Tournament, but Hermione figured it out and caught her, literally, in a jar. That's why she wrote that article for us last year." He settled his head back down of Severus' comfortable shoulder, feeling less irritated now, and more smug. If Severus' snigger was anything to go by, that was obvious in his voice.

"Well, well... there is more to that girl than books after all." He mumbled, pressing a very small and rather subtle my-lips-just-happened-to-be-in-the-general-vicinity kiss to Harry's hairline. It sent a pleased jolt through Harry's skin, sweeping away the remnants of his ire. "You suspect she was... hovering around?"

"Well, it's possible. We're careful with what we say, even to each other, even in whispers now, so it's not like she could get anything damaging. Embarrassing though? Maybe. The Twins... _flirt._" He muttered, blushing a bit and holding on to Severus a little tighter, to make a point.

Severus responded in kind, though Harry didn't get the feeling that he was jealous. "I believe they are aware of our... relationship, and I confess to a certain level of assurance as to their honour." He said, sounding a little amused. Harry huffed in response, beginning to remember that he was hungry.

"Well, good for you. It still makes me uncomfortable." He grouched as he untangled himself, reluctantly, from Severus' slightly smoky robes.

"And that, you ridiculous, fabulous little idiot, is why they continue." Severus finished, smirking at him and turning towards his room to take a much-desired shower. Harry's grumbling followed him until the door closed behind him;

"I hope your robes get caught in the door!" He hissed, on his way down the stairs, mostly to himself. Ron was already off, clattering down towards his food, but Hermione and Ginny had waited for him and he gave them an apologetic smile. "Sorry for being such a prat, I-"

"Hate reporters, we know. Come on, I know I could do with some food." Hermione said. He nodded and they trouped off after the clattering, gangly red-headed pig that masqueraded as a student. It wasn't just the reporters, though, Harry mused; it was the crowds and the noise and the constant threat of one of those shadows on the edge of awareness deciding that it would be worth capture to get a shot off at the Chosen One. The lot of it weighed on him so very heavily. At least Severus had been there at the right moment, he thought, a smile blooming across his face.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

That evening, after a long and amiable argument with Hermione over whether or not to use her parchment for the DA again, she and the others headed to bed fairly late. If he knew the Twins, their room would be leaking smoke before long but it was a safe bet that Ron would be asleep soon. Hermione and Ginny would be up for a bit longer doing... female things. Gossiping, maybe. The night before, he'd knocked on their door to borrow one of Hermione's books before turning in and they had been painting their toenails and talking about mental defences. The dichotomy had been rather shocking and he had grabbed the book Hermione held out without interrupting.

This left him sitting in the first floor drawing room, alone, with the knowledge that the sofa in the family room upstairs was much more comfortable teasing him to relocate. Eventually, he did manage to haul his lethargic body upstairs and headed for the little room with its squashy, fireside sofa. As he passed his room, his bed was tempting, but he knew it would take a minute to warm up and what he really wanted was the delicious infusion of heat from fire-warmed cushions. Snape's door was open and the man obviously absent, so the temptation to steal _his _bed was minimal.

The small sitting room was as warm as he'd been hoping; the door had been closed and the fire was built up nicely. Better than that, though was the black-haired head visible over the back of an arm chair.

"Severus," He said, softly enough to keep the relaxed atmosphere undisturbed. The man glanced round and his journal-reading-face softened into a more welcoming expression.

"Good evening, Harry." Incongruously, Severus had taken his shoes off, stretching his black-socked feet towards the fire, legs crossed at the ankle. Harry eyed his legs briefly before dumping his lethargic body onto the sofa. The warmth was delightful and he let himself fall limp and boneless into the cushions. It wasn't long before a rustle of paper and robes signalled that Severus was getting up; Harry cracked an eyelid and obediently drew his feet up so he could join him on the sofa. Severus settled down and draped Harry's legs over his lap, one hand on the arch of a foot and the other holding his journal.

"Anything interesting?" He queried idly, shuffling his shoulders deeper into the sofa and tuning his face towards the fire.

"New use for flabberghasted leech and the discovery of cytotoxic properties in western Haliwinkles." Severus drawled with utter lack of enthusiasm.

"Take that as a no then." Harry grunted, eyes still closed and an amused grin on his face.

"Indeed." There was a papery smack as the journal made an intimate acquaintance with the floor. "You are recovered from your... ordeal?" Severus asked quietly while his thumb smoothed over the top of Harry's foot idly.

"With Mrs Weasley's cooking and a mug of mulled cider in me?" Harry said with a sleepy smile, "you could say so. Hedwig got her owl treats and Hermione got her books; all is well with the world." If there was a very wry expression on his face as he spoke, neither of them commented.

"I do not wish to bear the message you requested of me." Severus said out of the blue some five minutes later. Harry turned his head to look at him and frowned at the tight, worried cast of Severus' eyes. "No matter what it would do to my position, it would put your emancipation at risk before it was generally known; Malfoy is a worm, Harry, even from prison; he could make your nice, private, legal emancipation disappear if he so desired..."

He let out a long sigh and dropped his head back against the cushions as he realised what his companion was talking about. "If you don't think it would help enough to risk that, with all its political consequences, then fair enough, but you know better than anyone how constantly I am at risk, anyway."

"I know, but it is a tenuous scheme at best, and any benefit to my position would be small once the realisation dawned that I have waited so long already. Do not ask this of me." Severus' hand was tense on his foot and he drew them away slowly and took his hand instead.

"Not my best idea ever, then?" Harry said, pressing Severus' hand against his jaw and kissing the heel of his palm. Severus' thumb stroked his cheekbone soothingly after a moment's hesitation and Harry smiled wryly.

"It may yet prove helpful in discrediting the Ladies Black directly, but I cannot be certain." Severus' voice had deepened to a rumble and his tension was gone, as subtle as it had been in the first place. "How goes the paperwork, in any case?" He asked rather... pointedly.

Harry groaned and flopped down again, on his front this time, using Severus' thigh as a headrest. "Glorious. If I ever make any attempt to enter the service of the ministry, Imperio me until I see _sense_." He grumbled, even as Severus' hand fell to card through his hair. He shifted to get more comfortable, pulling his glassed off and turning his face to the fire again. "They ask too many questions; no, they didn't feed me; no, I did not leave of my own accord; no, they do not support my educational choices." Severus hand tightened in his hair for a second, until Harry put a soothing hand on his leg, next to his cheek.

"They want to know about the wards, about my accidental magic record, most of which I didn't even know I had, about their 'financial situation', as if I would know." He grumbled to a stop, letting the quiet attention of his so-much-more-than-a-professor sooth him from his ire.

"And yet you draw up lesson plans and schedule meetings like a professional. Prey you never enter into the realm of _true_ teaching." Harry actually felt him shudder, "Reports to parents, to the headmaster, the Board, declarations of detention served. Health forms, accident reports, acquisition requests."

"Sounds delightful..." Harry muttered, nuzzling Severus' leg slightly and blinking sleepily. After a long minute, Severus clipped him on the shoulder;

"Come on, up." He demanded, already moving to stand and turning Harry off his lap. "Bed, Mr Potter."

He obeyed, slinking upright and leaning his forehead against Severus' shoulder blades while the man banished his shoes to his bedroom. It soon became clear to the professor that Harry would not go to his own room of his own accord and he heaved a sigh and conceded.

"For tonight, sleep where you will, Harry, but at least fetch some pyjamas and a robe." He said in a long suffering tone; the young man shuffled off without saying anything and soon returned, dressed in soft cotton bottoms and a shirt that he had failed to button. Severus, shrugging on a night shirt that Harry eyed distastefully, sighed again and did two or three buttons up for him; Harry had a habit of getting tangled in lose material.

He pushed the almost-asleep, limp body into his bed and headed to the bathroom. By the time he returned, Harry had buried himself in the duvet and stolen his pillow to _snuggle_. He relieved the meditating and unresponsive Harry of it, fluffed it back into a pillow shape and climbed in next to him, resigning himself to Harry's limpet impression. He amused himself in the strange in-between moments before sleep with the image of Harry transforming into a small aquatic mollusc. There _were_ tales of wizards transforming into fish and having to be near a body of water to use their Animagus form. It was fortunate that you had at least some indication of your form before the first, potion induced transformation. An interesting potion, in and of itself, that; Harry would be brewing it soon, if his progress with the meditation was any indication, possibly by Christmas...

He fell asleep soon enough, while Harry sank into his now-routine meditation and followed, not long after. Slowly, piece by piece, his nightly reaching for the animal bits of his brain was strengthening them, forming his magic around them and acknowledging them as a true and valid part of him that would not be denied. Eventually, that animal self would become strong enough for a potion to pull to the surface and after that, he would begin the arduous process of pulling it to the surface himself.

But, for now, half draped over Severus, Harry fell into a deep, Occlumentic sleep that would remain untroubled by dreams for hours to come.


	24. Chapter 24: Malfoys and Machinations

Chapter Twenty-four: Malfoys and Machinations.

Given that he was brewing an entirely new potion, a skill they were expected to manage by their OWL year but Harry hadn't exactly mastered, he thought he was doing rather well. His focus was better, he suspected, despite the fact that Severus had tasked him with being aware of the man through-out the lesson, on pain of being spelled yellow.

The potion itself was already the appropriate shade of magenta and Harry was, miraculously, still Harry-coloured. Severus, the utter bastard, had him brewing the counter to the canary-yellow spell he was threatening him with. If that wasn't a statement about his low confidence in Harry, he didn't know what was; either Harry would focus on him too much and fail to brew the potion, or he would manage the potion, but end up yellow. Harry was well on his way to managing both. He was trying not to feel smug; it would not go down well.

Severus was being deliberately difficult by walking behind him and forcing him to concentrate on feeling him out; listening to his footsteps, using the breezes in the room to tell if he'd opened a cupboard, focusing the ever elusive magic-sense that no one spoke of, but everyone had. Harry had already worked out that there was a silencing spell around the cupboard just behind and to his left; Severus' footsteps vanished entirely and the hinges never so much as hinted that they might squeak.

He stood back from his cauldron while the mixture simmered for a while and set to crushing his cochineal beetles to 'a fineness that would blow away on the faintest breath'. Who was he to comment on the ridiculous phrasing of his text book, but Severus, who's copy of Advanced Potion Making he was using, had had obvious derision for such things and had scribbled on it in a harsh hand; 'should deviate 12 cm from vertical drop on puff of 3 ml pipette.' Harry did this test himself once he thought it would work and then set to grinding the carapaces again when it failed.

Severus did manage to get a shot in as he was watching the red dust settle on the parchment but Harry twisted his hind-quarters out of the way and raised an eyebrow at his partners' aiming preferences.

"No comment." Severus drawled as he ferried the ingredients he had been collecting back to his own cauldron.

"No wonder you get on with the Twins these days." He huffed, adding the cochineal as directed. The potion went, counter intuitively, blue.

"They are apt Potioneers, unlike some I care not to mention, with a keen business sense. I choose to put out of mind the chaos they caused." He said in an almost absent tone, his attention split between his and Harry's cauldrons. It was the sixth such session, seventh if you counted Harry's prank on the Twins in question, and Harry was finding that his book work had paid off; he might actually manage to get the NEWT he wanted. Why he wanted it was something of a mystery to him, however, since he truly couldn't imagine ever working for the Ministry. Madam Bones was a good enough woman and her command wouldn't chafe, but working in the same building as the Minister? Having to do _paperwork?_ No, the police force wasn't exactly suited to him. The little matter of what he _did_ want to do had yet to be resolved, but his NEWT choices were less informed by that than by the war, anyway.

"But not too far out of mind; can't help but notice you have a habit of checking food, just like the rest of us." Harry said as he added three grams of soot, the final ingredient.

"Ah, but that is a habit I picked up from Albus. Have you ever actually _taken_ a lemon drop?" Severus responded with a sneer.

"I.. oh, OH. Oops, I suppose." Harry's eyes went a little wide; he'd never even thought of that.

"Yes, well, the things he doses us with are inevitably benign, if not beneficial. We are lucky he is a good man, not merely a great wizard."

"I suppose so. I'll keep a taste-bud out next time. Calming draught would be a good bet; I did destroy his office last time." Something he absolutely refused to feel guilt over.

"He was being foolish, and a Gryffindor, he should not have told you then." Severus said as the cheer drained out of the conversation.

"When, then? When is a good time to learn..._ that_?" he gripped his stirring rod overly tight and spoke between gritted teeth.

"Sooner, perhaps. When we knew of His Evilness's plans to seek it out. He let his dream of your childhood blind him to that, as it did to other things." Severus rounded the bench and pried the wood from Harry's fingers, drawing him back snug against his chest. He rested his cheek against Harry's messy hair and crossed his arms across Harry's chest warmly. "He is not beyond correcting his mistakes, however; I believe he told you then, because in that moment he saw the man you have become."

Harry returned the embrace by wrapping his hands around Severus' wrists and nodded slightly to Severus' words. "I think that's true, at least; its hard not to see your mistakes when people-" Harry choked off, as well as he was doing, Sirius' death was not that easily dealt with. A deep, strengthening breath was required for him to push the mess back down until he had his bed, and preferably Severus, to get him through Occlumency.

"Right. That's enough of that, for now... I'm going to go help with dinner in a minute; Ginny'll be skiving and peeling spuds again." Harry said, pushing his glasses up to his forehead and rubbing his face. Severus withdrew reluctantly, smoothing over Quidditch toned arms and shoulders.

"As you wish; your potion is adequate, and you appear to have remained beige, despite a loss of attention." He said as Harry shuffled his potions equipment into its carrier and lidded his cauldron; it was apparent that he was still disturbed, but Severus suspected that Harry was _always_ disturbed, grieving, or in pain, it was merely showing through the cracks in his suppression. Even as a man with his own powerful Occlumency, Severus had sympathy and empathy and he pulled his young man into a second hug at he turned away from the bench. Harry's face went to his neck, nestled comfortably against his collarbone and they lent against each other for a long moment.

"You'll miss teaching potions, wont you?" Harry asked quietly, his hands linked together at the small of Severus' back.

"Superficially, my NEWT students, but the lower years? Certainly not." He snorted a disdainful laugh, a feat Harry was sure he would be unable to replicate, and the broke apart again. "'Spuds', Mr Potter? Such a colloquia- ah."

Seeing Severus stop mid-sentence and stare into the middle distance was quite disconcerting; "Severus? What's wrong? Sev!" Harry called, gripping Severus' bicep and preparing to do _something_. What, exactly, he hadn't planned.

"Ah, calm yourself; the wards on my home have been activated. By a Malfoy. I am at no risk from them." He pulled away with a shuttered expression, eyes darting around the lab even as Harry relaxed and glared at him. "I must appear unsuspicious... an ingredients expedition, perhaps..."

"Some mud, a dirty knife and some fresh stuff? I'm sure we can manage that; Molly got organic potatoes."

Severus was off already, opening the cabinet with the chill spell on and fetching what looked like a brace of Naterjack toads, extra slime. "Make it dry mud, if you can, natterjacks live in dunes where-"

Harry shook his head to himself with an amused smile; Severus could reel off facts about potions ingredients for seven years of lessons, he wasn't about to be foiled by a toad.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

Severus materialised in his rather unkempt back garden with a deliberate '_crack_'; adult Malfoys are jumpy and often brutal creatures, even as guests in another's house, it was best to give them a little warning. His back door opened straight into the kitchen and swung open as he pushed with his elbow, the wards were refined enough to acknowledge that he had his hands full, particularly when it was something as unpleasant as a sandy, slime covered, amphibian corpse.

Both his boots and the lower hems of his robes were dusty and browned with potato soil that looked convincingly like sand-dust and his potion satchel had been splashed with a little water and rubbed with a particularly dry handful of dust, leaving it blotched appropriately. Any Malfoy would be disdainful but a few quick cleaning charms and an appropriate look of displeasure would reassure them that he shared their feelings on that particular point.

The work of a handful of minutes, but appearances can mean a great deal in a nuanced conversation.

He placed the toads on a cold slab near a cauldron and picked up a rag on which to clean his hands before even looking in the direction of his visitors. "I trust you have good reason for calling me back from my work." He commented in a low, drawling tone, long practiced on older students who appreciated the unspoken threat. He glanced through the door way to his living room only long enough to see Draco's outline against the Obscured window before fixing his eyes on Narcissa. The two were alone, fortunately.

"Severus, it is good to see you." She said, nerves of steel buckling under immense pressure and lending a harsh and desperate tone to her voice. He chose his moment well, giving her time to be fully convinced of his reason to be out of his own home before pulling his wand and using a slightly over-powered cleaning charm to rid himself of the evidence.

"Well met, Lady Malfoy," He said with a formal tilt of the head; his game with the senior Malfoys was a delicate one, he a half-blood and a long-time ally, but high in the ranks and with a more stable position than Lucius'. A misstep would be noticed and the full attention of the Malfoy House would be trained on him; blood in the water. Narcissa trusted him still; standing before him with open distress was telling, but Draco... He had become cool and distant since the events of the Department of Mysteries. With his Father imprisoned, the Scion of Malfoy was left to uphold the Name and House, as he had been trained, but nothing prepares you for the Mark. There, silhouetted against the grey light, Severus could see the faint hints in Draco's body language that betrayed the discomfort of it.

"The weather was ideal for collecting toads; I trust you have something of significance to impart?" He said with a carefully modulated tone, softening the phrase into something approaching polite and in-keeping with the strange relationship he had with their family.

"My son," Narcissa said with not-insignificant pride, laced with worry, "has been granted his missi-."

"Mother! You must _not_ speak of this!" Draco hissed, looking more like his mother with every rising decibel. "We shouldn't even be here."

"And yet here you are. Please, sit." He asked them courteously, gesturing to the sofa while the fetched a bottle of elf-made red to settle their nerves. "A mission..." He mused, if he could guess out-right, he would gain a cognitive advantage in the game of words, but guessing wrong would have equal negative consequences. The obvious, then; "Show me."

Draco looked nervous, but immediately knew what he was referring to, confirming his suspicions before he even saw the gray edge of the tattoo. Unfixed, as yet, the mark was grey and the snake missing; it would solidify and blacken upon completion of whatever condition the Dark Lord had set. He would then cast the final, summoning element, the snake, and Draco would be truly lost. He placed the wine and glasses on the coffee table and griped the boys wrist, pulling it and angling it to the light. The redness and swelling on the margins, a smudge of black ink outside the boarder...

"Last night? In private, no less. A mission of utmost secrecy, but he sends _you._ You, without enough Occlumency to keep out Potter, let alone Dumbledore." He sneered, dropping Draco's wrist and stepping to the table to pour.

"My sister has been teaching him, I will not have you insulting her, Severus." Narcissa said coolly before taking a sip, her eyes fixed on Severus and her composure returning.

"Dear Bellatrix. Of course. Even you must admit to her... unsuitability to teach a dangerous and delicate art, where minds come into close contact. He efforts will not be enough." His level tone knocked a little of the family pride out of Narcissa and she looked down at her hands, wrapped around her rapidly emptying glass.

"I have to kill Dumbledore."

Silence. Neither Severus not Narcissa reacted for a long moment. Draco was curled around his arm slightly, clutching it with his right hand so his thumb pressed numbingly into the ink, and his hair concealed his face. Severus' heart was rapidly beating out of his chest as the stakes of this game just rose to War-wide proportions.

"_Draco!_" the boy's mother screeched, "You, yourself said-!" she sputtered and turned to Severus. "Please, Severus, allow me to Obliviate you; our Lord must not find out that you-"

"Draco, you should not have spoken, but I most certainly will not be Obliviated of something I have been aware of for weeks." He stated as his mind latched on to the most useful explanation. Narcissa's confusion and the incongruity of the statement with her own knowledge diffused the tension in the room immediately and he allowed it to settle while taking a sip of wine. "Draco, for all his bravado, is no assassin. Our lord is fully aware of this, and were he using you to your full extent you would be studying your father's notes and maintaining his contacts. No, he is punishing Lucius for his failure."

The Malfoy's both looked stricken and angry, but the overwhelming expression on their face was fear. "But... Dumbledore is his biggest obstacle, and I'm in the school, I see him every day!" Draco mumbled, his eyes flicking all over the room; anywhere but at Severus.

"And I do not?" He asked with a severe look; Draco was clearly uncomfortable with making an attempt on the Headmaster, which boded well from Severus the Order-Member's perspective. "Dumbledore is not so easily killed. Were it possible, I would have been ordered to do so, long before now. However, as it stands, any attempt is pointless and would blow my cover so completely that I would be forced to flee the country."

Draco was normally pale, but the shade his skin had taken on over the last few minutes of conversation was truly concerning. "No, our Lord's true motives are clear, he would destroy the Malfoy family, and no doubt, he finds the irony of your political suicide deeply amusing."

Narcissa's hands were shaking now and Draco shot to his feet and began pacing restlessly.

"Why are you telling us this, Severus? For what purpose?" She asked; a rather indelicate inquiry, blunt almost, for the game of words they were playing.

"I doubt it would have taken long for Lucius to come to the same conclusion, and it will not be long before he is freed. I tell you nothing he would not deduce." Severus said dismissively, waving the question away. "Our Lord is ruthless and only two outcomes would please him at this stage; the obvious being Dumbledore's death and the second, the political ruin of the Malfoy family, leaving you with no recourse but to seek the Dark Lords shelter, as the Lestrange family have done."

Draco sneered in distaste at that; after so long in Azkaban, the Brothers Lestrange were as mad as their Black consort and tended not to wash.

"And should I not attempt my task?" Draco asked rhetorically, "The fading of my Mark and eventual execution awaits me; the house of Malfoy would fall to the Squib line and the Malfoys would be ended."

"We are at war; death awaits us all." Severus snapped. "But, you are correct; to all others, this task would seem a great honour. No, you would not be able to remain in the Dark Lord's ranks should you fail."

"I had hoped... you have the Dark Lord's ear, Severus, could you not persuade him? We are of more use as politicians than assassins, surely-" Narcissa pleaded, reaching over to grasp his hand imploringly.

"Even were the condition of the Mark not already set, I would be a fool to even try; Lucius caused the loss of the Prophecy, very nearly held it in his hand! Once again, we are at a loss as to what to do with the boy." He heaved a long suffering sigh; not difficult to generate at this stage, he would far rather be at Grimmauld Place with his... his Potter.

"I will think on this. For now, Draco, you must appear to be preparing for an attempt; make yourself known, _subtly_, in Knockturn Alley." He made a show of pinching the bridge of his nose,

"I- The Vanishing Cabinet, sir. It will take a long time to fix; it would... well, at the very least buy time." Draco said, haltingly. Severus glanced sharply at him, taking in his physical condition in greater detail than he had previously; he had not slept since the Mark had been cast, that much was clear.

"Do so. The Hogwarts component is hidden, but discoverable, should one know how to ask." He stood, magic flaring to emphasize his presence, "Now go, you have been away long enough. Do remind Wormtail of his obligations when you return."

Narcissa joined her son by the door and Severus waved the door open for them. "Thank you Severus, you... you did not need to tell us... this, we owe you a Debt of Information for this."

He bowed his head graciously, but the Debt would not hold, given how useful the information he had taken from them would be. They had no need of knowing that, and for all they knew he had been aware of the assignment before they had spoken.

He closed the door quickly behind them and used the Floo to return to Grimmauld Place, toads and half-full bottle of wine Vanished in his haste. Even in the heavy wards of Headquarters, magic that was beginning to feel like Harry, Severus' heart didn't slow. It had been so hard, so ridiculously difficult to keep up the facade of a Death Eater in the face of a plot to kill Albus. A plot that would _succeed _if the man ever heard about it.

He tumbled out of the Floo and into a kitchen bustling with activity as Molly and Dobby went about preparing enough food to feed an army. He barely saw them, his eyes fixing on Harry instead, who had turned with a broad grin that fell off his face when their eyes met. It took too long to take those few steps and Severus could only calm once he had Harry pulled tight against his chest.


	25. Chapter 25: Journey Time

_AN: See, I am still writing._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Five: Journey Time**

Harry's peeler dropped unceremoniously into the sink when he felt Severus come through the Floo. He turned with a greeting on his tongue but the man's face was like thunder; all darkness and anger, and Harry felt apprehension race through him. To be fair, Malfoys did that to him too, but he hadn't expected it from Severus. The air was knocked out of him, just enough to make him grunt, and he gripped the sides of Severus' robes, returning the tight pressure of a comfort-seeking hug.

His arms were tight across Harry's shoulders and Severus' head dropped against his hair so that Harry could just about feel his tense breath on his ear. His magic was riled, swimming just above his skin and draping over Harry protectively.

"Malfoy's, eh? Who needs em... You alright?" He muttered quietly enough that Mrs Weasley wouldn't hear, rubbing a thumb over Severus' spine.

"With Lucius imprisoned, there is little chance they could truly injure me, but yes, I am fine." Severus heaved a sigh and loosened his grip. "I must speak to Dumbledore immediately."

Harry stepped back, giving him a raised eyebrow that said clearly that Severus would not get away without telling him at some point, to which Sev nodded discretely and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Should I be ready for a Meeting this evening?" He asked, deliberately avoiding looking at Mrs Weasley; they were fairly sure that she was at peace with their relationship, but it was still... odd, particularly for Harry.

"I shouldn't think so; this is deep-cover information, it is unlikely to change anything immediately."

"Alright. I'll see you in a few hours, then."

Once he had gone back through the Floo, Harry stared into the fire with a pensive expression; Severus' behaviour hadn't been very Snape-like at all. It wasn't until Mrs Weasley gave his shoulder a squeeze that he looked away.

"You're doing a good job Harry, now, come finish the potatoes or Ron and Bill will eat us out of house and home." He nodded and went back to the sink, mulling quietly to himself as Mrs Weasley chattered on. "The Twins are having a 'business dinner', who would have thought! But there you have it; they need permission to decorate from the owner of the store opposite-"

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

"I think we need a green spell." Harry said rather abruptly. Hermione was working on a Transfiguration theory that Harry hadn't even heard of until she started riffling through the Library and took a moment to resurface from a particularly large tome.

"What?" she said after a moment, blinking.

"Think about it like this; the Killing curse cannot be blocked, reflected, countered, or shielded." He explained, catching Ron and Ginny's attention from their game of Go Fish played with an Exploding Snap deck; a risky endeavour at the best of times. "If we're here, learning blocking and countering and then all of a sudden we're in a skirmish and there's green light that absolutely cannot be blocked, we need to dodge, conjure obstacles, _anything except_ automatically shield. So, we need a spell that has green light to train with."

Hermione shuddered but agreed immediately, "I'm sure we can find something benign. What colour is the _cuciatus?"_ She turned her eyes towards the ceiling, chin in hand,

"Red, but not like _stupefy_, sort of... less yellow. Crimson?" Harry wagered,

"How about the Hair Hex? The spell-light is the same colour as whatever you're thinking of at the time." Ginny said, "The Twins know it, but I've never been able to get the wand movement out of them."

"I'll ask. If I explain, they'll come to Hogwarts and teach everyone themselves." Harry said with a wry tone. Hermione shook her head and went back to her book while Ron snorted in response;

"'alright for some," he grumbled, and Harry threw a scrap of parchment at him.

"Oi, I spent half a day as a heron you know, _and_ got kidnapped by Snape so he could reverse engineer the potion."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, briefly looking up from her book again. "Why didn't he just _ask_? The Twins are always looking for ways to get into his potions cabinet; they'd capitulate."

"Why does Mr Weasley do the cross-word? He likes the puzzle, far as I can tell." Harry said, quite truthfully, and doodling idly on the edge of a transfiguration array until Hermione's quill slapped him on the back of the hand.

"Can we not talk about Snape right now?" Ron whined, flopping back in his armchair.

"Do you think he would help us with our Occlumency?" Ginny mused, ignoring Ron completely and twisting to look over the back of her armchair at the table where Harry and Hermione were working.

Harry shrugged and Hermione huffed at him; "Well, it can't hurt to ask."

"Really? You actually believe that?" Ron muttered, moving his chess piece with decidedly more force than necessary; it hissed and pricked him in the thumb with its spear.

Harry tuned out Hermione's rant; Ron wasn't quite as bad about Severus as he had been in the past and Harry wasn't about to push it. His studying was going pretty well now, particularly since Hermione had arrived to help out, and he flipped through his textbook to get to the glossary of runes at the back. Since he hadn't actually taken the subject, Transfiguration arrays were his only use of them, and he couldn't write most of the symbols without something to copy from. After finding the right one, he carefully re-inked his quill and pulled the point across the paper at, what he hoped, was a half-square angle. Hermione had described it in something called 'degrees' but he hadn't taken arithmancy either and it had gone right over his head.

Fortunately, the ink stayed where he put it and he finished the diagram without having to re-do it; he'd just about had enough of transfiguration for the day, and wanted Severus to return already. He hadn't made it back for dinner, and it was already getting late.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

The house was mostly asleep when he did, finally appear, and only Harry was up, sitting by the kitchen fire and sipping mulled cider. They sat together for some time but by the time Severus had finished recounting his meeting with the Malfoy's and subsequently, Dumbledore, Harry was pacing slowly with a heavy frown.

"And he just wants to _let_ him?" Harry asked incredulously, "That's absurd!"

"He is dying, as much as it pains us, and thus values his life less. He believes Draco is not yet lost, that we must give him space to see the good in the world." Severus said, calm enough on the surface. Harry suspected he wasn't as stoic as all that, however.

"Oh, and if he manages to kill Dumbledore? Then he really will be hopeless! No amount of repentance would free him from that; he probably wouldn't even try." Severus silently pointed to Harry's chair and he flopped back into it.

"I admit that the possibility of Draco succeeding did not arise; the protections around the Headmaster are heavy and powerful." Harry shook his head and leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees.

"Even if he doesn't _actually_ do it himself, when Albus does eventually..." Severus nodded and made a continue motion; it didn't need to be said out loud. "The Dark Lord will be furious, Draco isn't _meant_ to kill Dumbledore at all, but it will look like he succeeded. Vol- uh, Mouldy-Shorts will need another way to punish the Malfoy family, though why he's so intent on that..."

"The man is insane, Harry, Lucius is not. It matters." Their gazes met for a moment and Harry nodded in understanding.

"In any case, Draco would be doomed, the Mark completed and we'd have a Death Eater in the school." Harry said with a sigh, beginning to wonder if letting all Slytherins into the DA was feasible after all.

"There remains one, other, option; Draco is being coerced into this mainly on the threat to his mother; with Bellatrix Lestrange in their holdings Narcissa is protected only by the whim of the Dark Lord, as Bella would quite happily torture her little sister."

"Would she be safer in Azkaban?" Harry asked, semi-rhetorically.

"Perhaps not." Severus conceded,

"Then we have no political leverage form that angle either." Harry admitted, a little disheartened. Severus was watching him with a puzzled look and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You truly wish to convert Draco, don't you? Why?"

"Malfoy's... Yeah, he;s a dick, but he's _important_. If we bring him over, then the biggest barrier to hereditary Death Eaters converting would be gone. We'd have to make a fuss about how he was elevating the Malfoy name, throw in terms like 'honour' and... I don't know, how Voldie treats his Death Eaters like shit in general; he doesn't really let you keep your pride, does he?"

"Not in so many words, no." Severus said with a faintly amused smile and they fell quiet for a minute or two, "Draco is not... thrilled, with his assignment; he was never a child to pull the wings off a fly, or to hunt foxes." He continued eventually, his voice thoughtful and slow. "He is rather ignorant, but he has led a sheltered, innocent life. The idea of killing repulses him."

Harry perked up at that and paid attention. "Then he might reject the mission on _emotional_ grounds?"

"His opinions have been poisoned against the Headmaster for twelve years, since he began training to take over the Malfoy Estates, so it is hard to say," he shrugged, "but faced with casting the Killing Curse, he would falter and fail, almost inevitably. It takes more than a desire to protect your Mother to cast such forbidden magic."

"But, there is no way of binding him to us, either." Harry said with a deep frown, staring into the flames. "The advantages are always shifting; he could play the field and do a good deal of damage." That would have been Ron's argument, if dressed up a little.

"The betrayal of the Dark lord would be enough," Severus said, shaking his head with a grim expression that Harry didn't need to look at to know was there, "even the smallest hints that Draco was not as loyal as his father would make him an enemy in the Dark Lords eyes."

"That's true enough; he's a malicious bastard and Draco's a whimp." Harry would have laughed, but this was someone's life they were talking about, a life that it seriously seemed would not be able to save itself; he heaved a sigh instead.

"Come, you melodramatic young fool. There is little to be done before September, in any case." Severus stood and led the way to the corridor. Harry, reluctantly, followed, hovering close in an unspoken question. Severus' answer was not as predictable as he would have liked, but for that night at least, he did not move away and the door to Harry's bedroom closed behind two wizards, not just one.

The fire in his grate was low; just dark embers that heated without shedding much light and they had not bothered with candles or _lumos_. With the drapes closed over London's orange twilight it was a warm and comfortable sort of dark which brooked no embarrassment as they changed for bed and curled close under the covers.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

Amelia Bones died on the twenty sixth of August, nineteen-ninety six, the third casualty of the Second Wizarding War.

As she did, the Order exploded into chaos.

"Tonks, get Kingsley back from Cardiff, and tell him to put on respectable robes." Dumbledore ordered. The witch was gone in moments, the vacuum sucking papers off the table and into the empty space left by her Disapparition; Harry had cracked the wards wide open, relying on the Fidellus almost exclusively. "Arthur, Hestia; deal with the muggle authorities, if you would. Harry, would you advise? I dare say you would know best how to appease them."

Harry nodded and pulled the two Order members out into the corridor. In the chaos, Dumbledore had blasted Walburga's portrait so hard with a silencing spell that she had come over all dizzy and fallen asleep in her frame.

"Look, tell them it was a gas leak, alright? No, wait, do you have a spell that makes things smell? They'll close off the street and keep everyone away while they do tests, with a sort of box thing, make it beep, ok?"

"If it's the same smell as a potions burner, I'll manage. Gas leak, beeping. Gotcha." Arthur said, looking a little too keyed up to be meeting the Muggle authorities. Fortunately, Hestia Jones was a solemn woman, prim and self contained.

"You'll need muggle clothes..." Harry wondered aloud, "oh, wait, do you have a tie?" Mr Weasley was wearing a tweedish suit under his robes, Ministry smarts, it'd do if they spelled it a dark, indiscriminate colour.

"Oh dear, and wear this without a robe?" Harry nodded, "Well, I, but won't it look odd? Shouldn't I wear some of those 'jeens'? We don't want to stand out!"

"You won't stand out; it's central London, and you're not sixteen. Mrs Jones, do you..." He looked up to find that she had already hung her robes on a coat hook by the front door and started transfiguring her clothes into something appropriate for a corporate wife. "Never mind." They thanked him on their way out the door, a tie summoned from upstairs snaking its way through the banisters after them. "And good luck!"

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

Very nearly everyone in the house was fully occupied by making preparations to return to Hogwarts in the final two weeks of summer, even the elves. Harry was, for the first time in his life, leaving _stuff_ behind when he went. Mostly old clothes, his first set of Quidditch gloves; things that he wouldn't have a use for but didn't really want to throw away and things whose sentimental value meant that he would _never_ throw them away. Dobby was helpful, but left him to it for the most part and reminded him that 'Dobby can always pop back if you leaves'es something'.

He'd already gathered together his notes from their scattered stacks around his room and the library - enough to fill a big lever-arch binder Hermione had lent him – and had surprised himself with how much it was all piled together. He was definitely glad he was using sheets instead of rolls, because that would have taken up a whole trunks worth of space. Though... given how much of his stuff he could get into his trunk these days, a 'trunk full' was apparently not a fixed amount. He was tempted to try and push the sofa from the family room in, just to see what would happen.

He had his own Quidditch armour this year, that'd be nice; it had appeared on his bed one day without a word or note, but Dobby had been particularly cheerful.

"Dobby, you didn't have to... look, here's my purse, don't spend your wages of stuff like this! That's for, I don't know, buying yourself socks and, and, new needles and going on holiday." He'd said, terribly, terribly grateful, but feeling guilt equally strongly.

"Harry James Potter; put your purse away. Dobby's money is for Dobby's happiness'es. Dobby an Elf, Dobby is liking making people happy, but Dobby is also free." He'd stuttered over the next word, but glared at Harry to keep him from butting in again, "_I _is wanting to give Harry a present. Not for birthday, or Christmas, but for saving Kreacher and Dobby. He is... you is giving Kreacher happiness by being a Good Master, you is giving Dobby happiness by, by, sitting next to him when he drinks tea, and making him birthday cake with colours and showing him how to be free."

Harry hadn't been able to respond at the time and the elf had nodded to himself and vanished, leaving Harry with his new kit. It was bulky stuff, but it had fitted into his trunk like it belonged there.

His plant, which was starting to put out flowers, would be going with Dobby, because Harry couldn't cast the spells to look after it, but it would be fine. He had got pretty attached to it, even if Dobby had taken over watering and feeding it.

By the 29th of August, his room was bare, yes, but not empty. There were old books on the shelves, an owl perch in one corner, and even copies of some of his family photos on the wall. Hedwig watched him over her shoulder, balefully; her cage was sitting on the table ready for the morning. Sure, she could make the trip faster than the train, but he wanted her with him, just in case.

'In case' what was another matter.

The Order was essentially in agreement that the train wouldn't be attacked, it was too hooked in to the Hogwarts' wards, but Harry still felt jittery. After all, Malfoy the younger and his unfinished Dark Mark would be there...

Hedwig screeched at him and pulled her head down on her neck. Harry had no idea how that was physically possible, but her head almost vanished into the puff of feathers on her shoulders.

"Oh come on, now you just look ridiculous..." He smoothed down the feathers on her front and her beak made a brief appearance. "Hey! Ow! There'll be bacon?"

She screeched huffily.

"Look, would you rather go with Buckbeak? Whitherwings."

Hedwig glared, stood up straight and took on her best regal pose.

"Yeah, thought not. You and Crookshanks will have a great time, I promise. Pig's going to stay in his cage the whole time."

Hedwig did not look like she believed him.

_XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*_

The train was... train-y. The platform as busy as ever, and Harry Potter passed through it all, invisible and far from the circle of his escorts. Severus had spoken quickly, with some disdain at the last Order meeting of the summer, forcing them to accept that it was better that Harry was as inconspicuous as possible and precisely where the Dark Lord would not expect him to be.

Hermione and Ron stood artfully on either side of an empty space, while Harry moved at speed from the Archway to the rear of the train. Once there, he would close the door of the final carriage and draw the blind down/ While he was hidden, he would put the Cloak away and his head would re-emerge from the train, looking as impatient as possible and pull his friends onto the train. A few words with Molly through the compartment window and they would be off, having arrived only a few minutes before the train was due to leave. The Twins had promised that the carriage would be empty. Harry was dreading finding out _how_ they'd managed that.

Indeed, the plan progressed as imagined, with only one small issue; Crookshanks tailed him closely through the crowd, hissing and spitting. This had the fortunate effect of allowing Harry more space to move as people automatically made room for the furious familiar, but as he closed the carriage door, the ginger tom caught his ankle and gnawed on it furiously. Harry couldn't blame him, not really; tail-stepping could in no way be considered polite or comfortable. He could sympathise, his Animagus meditation was truly coming along and Harry's appreciation of his own personal-space was clear in his mind.

The aft compartment was empty enough, only a pair of first-year, as-yet-unsorted, boys sitting by the window, and Harry stuck his head out of the door to wave to Ron and Hermione. The space between them disappeared as if had never been significant and they hurried to the carriage, with Ginny heading off to the left to grab Neville.

"Take your time, guys, no hurry, just me and the lads here." Harry said impatiently, studiously ignoring Hermione's cat. One of the little eleven year olds was failing to suppress his laughter and Harry flashed him a big grin; the kid didn't know _what_ to do with himself after that.

There were eight seats per compartment, so Harry, Ron and Hermione sat next to the boys, leaving room for Ginny and Neville, along with whoever else tagged along.

"Afternoon, kiddies, welcome to the Hogwarts Express," Harry said as he and Ron heaved the red-heads' trunk up onto the luggage rack; the firsties' trunks would do as a card table, for now, they'd move them if they got in the way. One was obviously a wizarding trunk (it watched you, suspiciously) while the other was just a trunk, like Harry's. Neither said much about the owners, who were looking a little overwhelmed. Even Harry towered over them, not to mention Ron, who felt the need to bend his head to keep it from knocking into the luggage rack until he sat down.

The laughing-one was less reserved and spoke up; "Hello. I'm Tristan, you're Mr. Potter, aren't you?"

Harry nodded, hoping that the boy wasn't about to do the whole... fame, thing. "It's nice to meet you, Tristan. And you are?" He asked the other boy.

"Isaac of Gwynedd, pleased to meet you, sir," the littler of the two replied in a quiet voice with a melodious welsh accent.

"Right then, Isaac of Gwynedd and Tristan of knowing-my-name, nice to meet you, etcetera. This is Hermione; she's a Prefect and she knows the whole Library off by heart."

"I do NOT! Harry!" She scolded, before turning to the boys and explaining what a Prefect was supposed to do, and, yes, offering to help them with work-related problems. Ron was too busy avoiding getting a dead arm by stifling his laughter to intervene.


End file.
